


Ancient Curses

by NinaFey



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), The Mummy (1999)
Genre: 1920s, AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, TW: Non graphic mentions of guns and violence, the mummy - Freeform, this is exactly what it sounds like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-07-11 23:32:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 48,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7075237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinaFey/pseuds/NinaFey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Mummy (1999) AU. Emma Swan is an ex-Legionnaire who's survived the City of the Dead; Regina Mills is set on finding it. Neither knows what truly lies underneath the lost city of Hamunaptra.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Thebes 2134 B.C.

 

There he lies, limbs twitching and with  eyes bursting with blood. There he lies, Pharaoh of Egypt, he who wore the Crown of Upper and Lower Egypt. He who had ridden chariots and hunted for prey and the enemy while she remained locked away in the palace. There he lies, unworthy King, false god. Son of lesser wife, almost dead half-brother. Barely breathing husband. The man who had taken her for a wife to proclaim himself a god King. The murderer who had slashed the throat of her beloved.The snake’s venom is quick, his lungs gasp for air and the Queen is almost free. She grabs the Aspis by the tail, the animal seemingly content in her grasp goes willingly into a wicker basket. The Queen smiles as she leaves the chambers, leaving her thief of a brother and husband dead on the palace floor. She takes her horse and servants and rides towards Hamunaptra, to be reunited with her stolen love.

 

Had the gods ever favoured her, the Queen would not have been caught. If they had been just, there would not have left that single guard awaiting for the Pharaoh’s order the nights she had killed him. He would not have seen the Queen, with victory on her features, walking away. He would not have run to the Pharaoh’s advisers and Commander of the Army to scream treason. She would not have been found in Hamunaptra, with the delicate scrolls of the Book of the Dead surrounding her. Reciting incantations, begging Osiris for mercy. Asking him to allow her the same gift Mother Isis had bestowed on him, the goddess who had gone to the ends of their Earth to find him and piece him back together. She had asked to be given the ability resurrect the love she had lost, whose life her husband had ripped from her with the metal of his sword. Like he had taken her throne, like he had usurped Egypt. Just as her prayers had been answered and her incantations had floated through the air, the Pharaoh’s men burst through the sacred doors. Her beloved’s soul returning to the underworld before it could reunite with their body.

 

In chains they have her now, the Book of the Dead in a locked chest. She is to be mummified alive, suffering the worst punishment Egypt can bestow on her. The Hom-Dai, her soul will never know rest buried for eternity at the feet of Anubis. There will be no meeting of Ra, no journeys to be taken on his boat.It is her fate to forever be trapped in despair, with a hollow chest. But she thinks that she’ll rise from the dead. The magic of the Hom-Dai, if ever reversed, would grant her powers to rule over Egypt with her resurrected beloved by her side. Yes, she can feel it in her bones. One day she will rise again, even if her tongue has been cut off. Even as she feels the cold blade of the embalmer, even as blood drips down her belly. Then it happens, her heart is ripped out. So that it can never be weighed by Anubis, so that her essence withers and rots like the rest of her will not. When she awakens, she will need a new heart. One that beats wildly between her ribs like her old one had.

 

The sarcophagus locks above her, and she screams and screams as the beetles that been thrown in with her begin consuming the Queen. She wails until unrestful death comes for her, until whatever magic had remained and kept her alive finally leaves her.

 

* * *

 

 

Hamunaptra, 1925 A.D.

 

Sand, and blood that’s all there is out here. No treasure, no gold. All of her garrison’s illusions are buried in the dunes now. She wishes this place had been a mirage. The Sun is hotter in the Egyptian desert, this is fact Emma thinks as she feels the weight of her rifle pressing against her shoulder.There are a few hundred riders galloping towards them. She is going to die, this is a damn certainty. She is going to die wearing the uniform of the Foreign Legion, not even fighting for a cause. Just for greed and legend, shooting at people who don’t deserve to be shot. She is going to bleed out with ancient and empty ruins at her back and nothing but sand at her feet. Hamunaptra, city of the dead, the names fits all too damn well. But she won’t run, she’ll keep her post. She may not understand any of this, she might hate most of it, but she is not a coward. The same can’t be said for her Colonel, who drops his weapon and rides away from the battle when faced with the ferocity of their opponents.

 

“Looks like you’ve just been promoted,” Jones mutters next to her as he takes aim. When she says nothing he continues “Swan, your strength gives me strength.”

 

“Prenez vos positions!”  Emma shouts over her shoulder, this pointless defense is on her now. “Steady. Steady.” She counts a beat or two, and the fighters keep coming closer. Undeterred by their weapons being aimed at them. Shit, shit. “Steady...FIRE!”

 

Her ears are ringing with bullets and her heart is thumping in her chest. They had only managed to delay the first line of attack, the riders still come. And they carry rifles on their right hand, a blade on their back and the reigns are tightly held on their left hand.  They’re outnumbered,outgunned...hell they’re bested in every possible way. They shouldn’t have come. Shit. “FIRE!” She orders again, and it barely makes a dent. Her men begin to drop to the ground, like flies. And the sand around her begins darkening.

 

“FALL BACK!” She yells as she keeps firing her weapon as she retreats into the ruins. She searches for Jones and finds him crawling away on his belly. But he sprints from the ground, discarding his weapon and running toward an open chamber. The riders are catching up with Emma, and she knows there only four bullets left in her revolver and a stick of dynamite in her belt. Survival kicking in, she bolts after Jones who has just arrived at the open chamber. Her hair comes undone from the tight bun that held it together and she can hardly see through the blonde strands as her feet keep running.

 

“JONES. JONES!” She calls after him and the miserable, spineless bastard of pig-rat begins pushing the stone door closed. “DON’T YOU DARE CLOSE THAT DOOR,” Emma slams her body against the stone, trying to push it open but it’s no use. “JONES! GODDAMMIT JONES! YOU SON OF A BITCH!”  

 

The riders catch up with her and she figures she’ll at least go down fighting. Everything but their eyes is covered with black cloth and they remain silent as they surround her in a circle. Emma aims at one, at two, at three, and then fires until she’s spent all four of her bullets. Well, this how Emma Swan dies dressed in brown, and white, and some worthless medals pinned to her chest. She closes her eyes and waits for the burst of gunpowder that’ll tell her she’s about to meet her goddamn maker. Whoever the god who decided Emma should be brought onto this damn world was. But then she hears their horses neighing and galloping away and she dares open one of her eyes. They’re running away, leaving her alive after everyone else had been killed. She can’t decide if it’s good or bad luck.

 

Then the sand, hisses, _hisses_ underneath her. It erupts and she scrambles away, just as it barely misses her. Emma quickly grabs something that’s hit her foot, a full cartridge she hopes.There are whispers in these ruins, something dark and terrible. Something...evil. And now she understands why the riders had escaped. So, she too will get the fuck out of this place.  Emma runs toward the Sahara, panting and stained with blood that isn’t hers. It’s bad luck she settles as she looks up and discovers three riders atop their horses looking down at her from a cliff. She keeps walking.

 

                                                                                                           --------------

 

“ _That one is strong. Should we not kill her, Maryam?”_  Maryam eyes the  soldier and the beacon that is her yellow hair as she marches unsteadily towards the desert. The only soldier left standing, and she could almost admire her. If she didn’t resent her presence, if some of her fighters hadn’t been shot down by her the sea of pale complexions. If she and her men hadn’t come so close to unleashing the creature that sleeps beneath the city.

 

“ _No,”_ She replies, her eyes still following the speck of brown and white that is the woman.  Maryam swears the woman had turned to look directly at her. _“The Sahara will kill her.”_

 

* * *

  
  


Cairo, Four Months Later

 

_Dear Miss Mills,_

 

_We have reviewed your application and we regret to inform that it has not been successful. While your qualifications are impressive, and your academic writings are commendable you do not possess enough experience in the field. Given the limited places at the College we are unable to offer you a place._

 

_We wish the best in your future endeavors and encourage you to submit a new application once you have taken part in field work._

 

_Sincerely,_

 

_J.S. Smith_

_Dean_

 

Regina crumbles the letter in her hand, it was dated four months back. Her fate had been decided while she still believed that maybe this time things would not be different. She remembers thinking, naively she realizes now, “Perhaps, this time I will not run into so many walls”. Almost wincing Regina recalls telling Henry that they could just be taking a boat in September and embark on a different adventure--though she had used the word a little too liberally. It would have been three years in the Isle of Wight, with grey skies instead of the bright azure of Egypt. Three years of questioning looks as soon eyes landed on their darker complexions and black hair. At the lack of a wedding band on her finger.That last thought lessens the sting of rejection somewhat, but not enough to keep her from marching into the curator’s office. Regina buttons the cuffs of her shirt, straightens her already-straight cravat, and smooths her skirt. All unnecessary but part of the ritual she does when about to face Gold.

 

Regina doesn’t bother knocking, she won’t give him the satisfaction. “I believe it’s time for me to be part of a dig.” She says firmly as she walks in.

 

Gold doesn’t move from his chair, only his eyes follow her. And she thinks that he has no right to sit there, in his tailored English suit and French shoes. Under what right does he precede over Egyptian antiquities? At least she has her grandmother’s Egyptian blood coursing through her. “Are we having this conversation again, dearie?”

 

“Our interactions would be less repetitive if you simply agreed to my request.” She says as she holds looks into his reptilian eyes.

 

“You seem to be under the impression that securing a place, as anything other than a labourer, is simple. Strings would have to be pulled and you would have to beat other candidates, who quite honestly aren’t as burdened as you are…”

 

 _“My son_ is not a burden.” Her nostrils are flaring and her hands curl into fists. Regina almost feels fire itching to burst from under her skin.

 

“Then it seems we have arrived at our usual impasse.” Gold catches the way her hands are still clenched and how blood is rushing up her neck and cheeks. “But if you do not find your work at the museum’s library satisfactory enough, I could arrange for a replacement...”

 

“You would not be able to find another person who can read and write ancient Egyptian, decipher hieroglyphics and hieratic, and properly catalogue the library in five hundred miles.” Her tone is measured but her words biting. Regina has never been one to back down.

 

“Or another person’s whose mother and father pay as much patronage as yours did. Good day, Miss Mills.” He says dismissively and she leaves his office with a huff.

 

Regina is still fuming as she walks into the exhibition room holding the sarcophagi. It’s a dark and damp room, and the sarcophagi are mostly clay, all with their sacred spells and incantations intact. There are some that still hold their owners within them, some bodies more well preserved than others. She hears a rustling coming from one of the bulkier ones in the middle of the room and grabs a torch off the wall as she heads to it.

 

“Yasin?” Regina calls out as she presses two fingers to her temple in annoyance. This better had not be a game. “Mohammed. Abdul?” Her patience is running thin as she approaches the sarcophagus

 

“Bwauaaah!” A mummy springs  from it and Regina gasps though her face remains unimpressed. She hears her sister’s distinct cackle following. They have not seen each other in six months, of course she would choose to make this her entrance.

 

“Zelena!” Regina lightly slaps her cheek as she scolds her. “Have you no respect for the dead? Get out of there!”  

 

“Oh, calm down Old Mum,” Zelena says with her words so heavily accented with a Cambridge accent that it makes her standout more than her red-hair and green eyes in this room. “If anyone heard they’d believe me to be the younger one. Besides, I’ve come bearing gifts.”

 

“Please, Zelena. I don’t have time for your antics today. I’ve just had an argument with the curator and if I have to take one more of your worthless trinkets to him…” Then her sister places a small box right in under her nose and she stops to appreciate it.

 

“Tell me, sis. Does this look like a worthless trinket to you?” The box clicks and opens into the shape of a star.

 

“No. I think you might have found something, at last.” Regina says stealing it from her grasp. “Where did you get this?”

 

Zelena just laughs.

 

                                                                                                              -------------

For once it would seem that one her sister’s finding might prove to be useful, it just may secure her a dig. It is an ancient box with a map tucked safely inside it. It is unlike any map that has been found, and she had all but ran back to Gold’s office with Zelena in tow.

 

“See the cartouche there, it’s the official royal seal of Seti the First, I’m sure of it.” She tells Gold pointing toward the evidence confidently.

 

“Perhaps.”  He replies indifferently but still not taking his eyes away from the map.

 

“Who was this Seti and was he rich?”  Zelena asks from her spot next to Regina and she can only turn to her and glare in response. “Filthy rich then.”

 

“I’ve already dated the map,”Regina continues with the pride in her voice growing with each breath. “It’s almost four thousand years old and the hieratics over here...Well, it’s Hamunaptra.”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous! Hamunaptra is a myth! We’re scholars, not treasure hunters. How many have gone out to the desert looking for gold only to find death?”  Gold holds the map up to candle to better inspect and Regina’s heart races as it catches on fire.

 

“You’ve burned my map! The map to the lost city!” Zelena cries out as she and Regina bend over to save the unburned half of the fragile papyrus.

 

“It’s all for the best,” He moves to stand with the aid of his cane. “I’m sure it was a fake peddled by thieves and grave robbers. I’m only surprised you fell for it, Miss Mills.”  

 

Regina gets to her feet and takes the box off his desk as her eyes narrow and her lips are pressed into a thin and angry line.

 

“Get up, Zelena. We’re leaving.” Regina tugs at her arm. If she isn’t given an opportunity, then she will make one. One way or another, she will find Hamunaptra.

* * *

 

 

She has visitors, Emma’s been told. Must be some grace from God, her cellmates tell her. On the day she is to be hanged. If she had known that breaking the arm of drunk who turned out to be a high ranking officer of the police would end with her spending two weeks rotting  in prison waiting to be hanged...she would have still have done it. Four guards come to put her in chains, and Emma is angry and tired enough to fight them off at first. They drag her through the halls and she groans when the Sun hits her eyes for the first time in weeks as they force her on her knees at an external cell.

 

“But she’s just a filthy criminal.” The voice of woman says above her says. Emma’s ears perk up at the accent. Rich, American. New York she thinks. Her eyes still haven’t adjusted to the light.

 

“Regina…play nice” Another woman warns next to her. Different accent, it sounds vaguely like too much alcohol and smoke. It sounds like a bad night.

 

Emma’s eyes have stopped hurting and she has stopped seeing dark spots long enough to see the two women. She can only focus on one, though. Her black hair is curled just enough to be in fashion, pinned to her scalp. Her blouse and skirt are all straight lines, hell she’s even sporting a sunhat. She is type of person who always looks sun-kissed in a way that makes others envious. There’s a scar above her lip and her dark eyes are judging Emma. Not that she could blame her, she currently looks like a warthog that’s rolled around in shit and hay. Figures she’d die today, after she’s met her.

 

“Missionaries?” Emma asks because she can’t think of anything to say and her brain can’t piece together any other explanation.

 

“Hardly, pet.” The other woman replies with a snort.

 

“We’ve found your puzzle box and we’ve come to ask you about it.” Regina, if she remembers it right, looking like she’s holding her breath, either from the stench or anticipation.

 

It takes Emma a second to gather her meaning. “No.” She shakes her head and drops her hands to her knees. Not this again.

 

“No?” It sounds more like a challenge to refuse her than an actual question.

 

“No. You’ve come to ask me about Hamunaptra.” If she were standing and not about to die, Emma would be kicking herself by the way her stomach flops when the woman’s eyes light up.

 

“How do you know it pertains to Hamunaptra?” Regina drops her voice barely above a whisper as she looks around. Her tone has not softened.

 

“Because that’s where I was when I found it.” Emma sighs heavily and presses her forehead against the cell’s bars.

 

“How do we know that’s not a load of pig swallow?”Asks the other one.  Emma turns to look at her. The red hair, the eyes, the smugness in her posh accent. And something clicks.

 

“Hey, don’t I know you?”

 

“No...I’ve just got one of those faces, I’m afraid.”  She remembers now. The night with all the rum, the night the damn puzzle box was stolen from her pocket. Lost all her money and freedom that night. Emma does the only thing left to do;  she punches her through the bars. The woman falls to the ground out cold and the guards club Emma’s neck; she doesn’t even flinch. Can’t give them the satisfaction.

 

What surprises Enma is that the other woman just steps over her and comes even closer. Now Emma sees that she has the markings of delicate golden brown henna on her fingers. From a wedding, maybe? Not hers, she hopes. Shit, she’s radiant. Emma stores this in the back of her mind for when she faces the gallows today.

 

“You were actually at Hamunaptra?” Regina is trying to sound more skeptical than thrilled. She’s failing.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Do you swear?” It sounds as if she’d rip out her heart if Emma lies. She doesn’t know why but that awakens something in her.

 

“Every damn day.” Emma replies all too pleased with herself.

 

Regina rolls her eyes and let’s out an exasperated breath. “No, I meant..”

 

“I know what you meant. Hamunaptra, City of the Dead. I was there.”  The shackles are making her wrists itch and Emma can’t stop looking at her.

 

“What did you find? What did you see?” It sounds like she’s testing her because she doesn't trust Emma just yet.

 

“Sand. Blood. Nothing more.”

 

The warden is coming their way and Regina seems to pick up on it because she moves even closer to Emma.

 

“Could you tell me the exact location?” A demand, not a request.

 

“You want to know?” She asks quietly, and doesn’t know what answer she is hoping for.  

 

“I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t.” She hisses obviously losing her patience.

 

“Do you really want to know? Because I don't think you’re prepared for what it is.” Emma wants to save her because Hamunaptra is something dark and terrible. Regina scoffs at her but closes the distance between all the same. It’s like they’re being pulled together.

 

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Regina says lowly. Her face is now just in front of hers. Emma can smell the jasmine perfume she surely wears. “Now tell me.”

 

And it is definitely because this is her last chance before there is rope around her neck and because Regina is too much to be real and standing here in this shithole that Emma lunges forward to kiss her fully. She wants to live, Emma decides right there.

 

“Get me the hell out of here!” The guards smack her again and this time she fights back because Regina is watching her with an unreadable expression. “Please!”

 

                                                                                           -----------------------

 

The prison is in commotion as she steps onto the gallows. Though she seems fearless and defiant to the last, Regina is aware that somehow the woman has managed to keep her gaze fixed on her. Her probable blonde hair is knotted and muddied to the point of cracking, her clothes practically rags. Yes, she looks the part of a criminal but with her kiss still on her mind and her earnest green eyes looking at her so intensely Regina knows she is not a liar.

 

“I will give you one hundred pounds to spare her life.” She tells the warden, a fat and short men that stinks of cheap liquor and sweat. Regina is careful to keep her back straight as she sits on the chair next to him and to never let the authority slip from her tone.

 

“Pfftt..” His spit is too unruly to be kept in his mouth.”I’d pay one hundred pounds to see her hang.”

 

“Two hundred.” She says quickly. Regina can see a hopeful and bright smile growing on the woman’s face.

 

“Proceed!” He shouts to the executioner. He grabs the lever.

 

“FIVE HUNDRED POUNDS!”

 

“ Ahh hold it,” He hold his hand to the executioner “ And what else?” He eyes her suggestively but when Regina moves away with disgust on her face he says: “DROP HER”

 

“NO. STOP THIS.” Regina orders him as she gets to her feet. There is still hope, her neck did not break and her feet are still desperately kicking the air.

 

“What is this dirty godless woman to you?”

 

Still feeling the burn of chapped lips on hers, Regina replies “She knows the location the location to Hamunaptra”

 

“You lie!”

 

“Do you truly want to take that chance? Cut her down and I’ll give you ten percent.” Regina is certain fury is leaking from her eyes.

 

“Fifty”

 

“Twenty”

 

“Forty”

 

“Thirty”

 

“Twenty-five!” He says too quickly and too triumphantly.

 

“Ah deal!”

 

He grunts realizing his own stupidity. “CUT HER DOWN!”

 

                                                                                                              

* * *

 

 

It’s the early morning in the port of Giza and yet the day is hot. The humidity is sticking to her face and Regina is annoyed by the sweat that’s already rolling down her back. She had left her boy tucked in bed, with the woman they had taken to calling Granny and her granddaughter, Yaquta. It had broken her heart. She had always promised Henry she would bring him along to her very first dig. He had stomped his feet on the ground, and refused to look at her when she had broken the news. “Mom, usted me prometio, me prometio!” He had felt betrayed that Regina would go on without him and the mention of gift had done nothing to improve his mood. They weren’t meant to be apart. She had smoothed his hair and apologized saying it was much too dangerous for a young boy of nine. “Casi diez. My birthday is in three and a half months.”

 

Regina shakes her head trying to bury her guilt and realizes that Emma Swan, she had learned her name after she had been cut down, is not here yet. Their boat about to set off in six minutes.

 

“Do you think she’ll show up?” She asks Zelena who is shielding her eyes from the Sun.

 

“Undoubtedly. Someone like Miss Swan, her word is all she has.”

 

“Well, I don’t like her one bit. She’s filthy, crass; a complete and utter beast.” Regina crosses her arms on her chest.

 

“Anyone I know?” Someone says behind her  and Regina keeps from jumping. There she is, Miss Swan. Long and clean blonde hair tied back and away from her face, that is too sweet and delicate to belong to a had-been prisoner. A heavy bag is slung over her shoulder. She is dressed in a white cotton shirt, brown slacks and matching jacket. Her black boots reach her calves, and she is standing tall in them. Her eyes are a vivid green in the morning light. Regina realizes she has been staring this whole time.

 

“Well, I’m pleased to see you do keep time, dear.” Regina clears her throat when she notices a sheepish smile on her lips. “Miss Swan, can you look me in the eye and guarantee me this is not some sort of a flim flam? Because if it is I swear…”

 

“A flim flam?” Now she scowls, clearly offended by her skepticism. Her gaze locks with Regina’s as she steps forward, and they’re just a hair away from their faces touching. “Listen, lady. All I can say is that my Colonel found this old map and my whole garrison believed in it so damn much that without orders we marched from Libya to Egypt. Like I told you before, nothing out there but sand and blood. I was the only one to survive.” She takes a deep breath and looks down. “I’ll take your bags.” She flexes her knees and takes her bags onto the boat with her.

 

“Yes, I see what you mean. Complete and total beast, nothing to like there at all.” Zelena says as she walks ahead, knowing that a red tint has spread on her sister’s cheeks. Regina gives her the same hateful she’s been giving her for fifteen years.

  
                                                                                                      ----------------------

 

Henry Mills, archeologist, adventurer has a nice ring to it; he thinks as he watches his mother and aunt leave the house through the wooden shutters of his bedroom window. It’s not fair that Auntie Zelena gets to go with her and not him. She hasn’t even been to their house in six months and she burns red like a tomato when she’s in the sun too long. AND mom _had promised_ she’d take him to her first dig. Besides, mom says that he is the best in the whole of Cairo and Giza at deciphering hieroglyphics. She needs him on this expedition. Her Arabic isn’t as good as his. It’s not her fault, they have only been here for three years and his sponge-y brain learns faster because it’s still shiny and new and hers is thirty-two years old. Her Arabic still breaks over her sentences and when she means to use a word at a store, Spanish comes out. And then she apologizes in English. But mom does this thing with her voice that’s half scary and half polite and so no one ever dares mention her mistakes. Instead people just nod without looking her in the eye. Still, she could use his help.

 

He grabs the bag he had packed last night when she had gone to bed. Quietly, he checks to see that Granny and Yaquta are still the oven room, making bread and brewing the morning coffee as he sets out the front door towards the docks. Henry had memorized the details of his mother’s trip from the tickets laid on her bedroom table, he knows the boat leaves in exactly fifty-five minutes. Plenty of time to catch it.

 

“Hijo, portese bien. No quiero nada de travesuras, no funny business, me entiende?” She had told him trying to sound stern before she said her goodbyes. “I don’t want to come back and have Yaquta tell me you skipped school and opted for the museum. Promise me.”

 

“I promise.” It hadn’t been a lie, Henry thinks as he spots her, Auntie Zelena, and a blonde woman he doesn’t know by the steamer. This is serious business, he is going because his mom needs him.

 

“Henry Mills, archeologist. Adventurer.” He whispers to himself as he hurries unseen on to the boat a minute after his family had boarded. Henry smiles because it’s a great day for an adventure.  

  
  
  
  
**OK, I feel like my notes on this story have notes. I fell in love with Three Ancient Egyptian Novels and the Cairo Trilogy by Naguib Mahfouza and I've loved The Mummy since it was released in 99 and I was too young to be watching it. And I've loved Ancient Egyptian history for longer. I re-watched the movie a month ago...and this came about. I'll be using dialogue and themes from the movie and screenplay.**

  1. **Egyptian royals married their siblings to keep power and bloodlines within the family. YEP. THAT HAPPENED.**
  2. **1925 is the year King Tut's tomb was found and it's 7 years after Egypt's independence and there will be comments on it along the way, and PLEASE check out the 18th dynasty, especially Hatsheput.** **I didn't want to taint her good name by using her as the villain.**
  3. **Maryam=Marian and Yaquta=Ruby, they are the literal Arabic equivalents and PLEASE assume that everyone with an Arabic name is Arab, and not white.**
  4. **Regina is still latina while she is part Egyptian. Latinx families are extremely layered and complicated, so there is no erasure of latinx heritage here. Henry is not white but Regina is not his birth mother, and neither is Emma. More on this point in later chapters.**
  5. **Yeah that kiss is problematic as hell and it was in the movie too, but I'll definitely address it later on. Because I have to. Please forgive the anachronisms and inaccuracies that make this story possible.**
  6. **When I use italics in dialogue I use them to signify that Arabic is being spoken.**



  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: gun violence

Sailing down the Nile is different than sailing across an ocean, there is no salt in the air only freshness. The world does not seem so vast, not this endless orb of blue. Here in the Nile, Regina does not need reminders that life exists outside the wood and steel that keep her afloat. The river runs, and runs and the fertile green of Egypt alongside it. She has never been this far away from Cairo, this removed from her son. There is an unpleasant marriage of excitement and guilt inside her and she forces her ears to focus in the way the water hits the hull to ease her mind. Regina remembers learning that only newborn water flows in a river. It springs small and quiet and it runs as it grows louder and wider until it finds its freedom in the waves of the ocean. As a young girl she wished to be a river, the Nile because she had her grandmother’s dark eyes; she had been born from stone and would not stop running until she hit the sea and found the world. Regina smiles only to herself as the Sun reflects on the water. That child hiding from her mother in her father’s study in New York would have been pleased to know that Regina had indeed grown into a river.

 

“In a contemplative mood, are we?” Zelena says as she comes to stand next to her.

 

“Yes.” Regina replies shortly still looking at the water.

 

“It cannot be helped, I suppose.” There are always these unpredictable bursts of understanding her sister has. As if Mills blood just predisposes them to instinctively know what is going through the other one’s mind. Brujería, that is what her father would have called it.  

 

“How do you figure?”

 

“This is the first of many things for you. First dig, first time away from Henry, first time a former prisoner catches your fancy…”

 

“Zelena…” Regina warns her. “Do not make me throw you overboard.”

 

“I’d love to see you try, sis.” Zelena throws her head back as she grins. “Join me in the dining room. I could use a drink.”

 

“It’s the early afternoon.” Regina says through her teeth, even if she is not opposed to the idea.

 

“Which is why we will be having food with our drinks,” She loops her arm with Regina’s.“Besides, what good is all that money of yours if you can’t buy your older sister lunch?”

 

The room is filled with every type man available, short and fat, tall and gaunt, clean shaven men and men with too much hair. Regina will not tell her sister, but she finds herself searching for a woman’s face in the crowd, one with green eyes. She would never hear the end of it if she so much breathed a syllable of Miss Swan’s name. But there is only a multitude of narrowed eyes honing in on them, observing as if they were wildlife caught in the aim of their rifle. They request a table by a window, as to avoid breathing all the cigar smoke caught in the room. Zelena urges her to order the best and biggest plate they have to offer, after all they will be living off unleavened bread, dates, milk, and cheese in the desert. It is better to splurge while they still can. A bottle of Syrah is ordered and diligently poured by a waiter too timid  to speak more than necessary.

 

“What do you think mother would have thought of this?” Zelena asks sipping her wine. This is a favorite game of hers, asking what mother would make of anything. It had irked Regina beyond belief when she had first met her sister. It was an obsession of Zelena’s, wanting to extract every ounce of Cora Mills out of her. Regina had perhaps hissed, barked and maybe shouted when she had had enough. But now she understands, her sister had only been trying to piece together an image of the mother who had sent her off to live with her father in England but who had kept Regina.

 

“Well, she would have found this wine too dry and inappropriate for the weather.” She clears her throat as she eyes her sister carefully.

 

“Ugh. You know what I meant.” Zelena puts her glass down. She still aches for some sort of semblance of mother and Regina is old enough to oblige her without too much reproach.

 

“Mother hated anything south of Paris. She despised old things, and most of all she loathed that which she could not understand.” Regina feels that white lies would be a disservice to Zelena. “She would have hated this.”

 

“But she would have respected you for it.” Zelena says with a weak laugh trailing her last words.

 

“ I don’t know about that.” She replies thinking of Henry crying in her arms that stormy night.

 

Zelena only nods understanding that no more is to be said.Something changes in her eyes; a deliberate shift into a wicked mischief, and she knows that a smirk is soon to follow.  “Do you think Miss Swan will take her lunch here?”

 

“I don’t think that is something that merits any consideration, dear.” She readjusts the napkin on her lap and takes a sip from her glass to hide her lie.

 

“That is too bad. Especially considering how she just walked in.” Zelena points at somewhere behind her.

 

Regina turns too quickly and finds no one but a waiter standing there. She feels her eyes hardening into a glare as she looks back at her sister who is barely keeping herself from laughing.

 

“Would you stop that?” She grits through her almost closed lips and leaning over the table.

 

“ And here I thought it was impossible for Regina Mills to get flustered.”

 

“You are being more of a nuisance today, that’s all this is. It’s irritation you’re seeing on my face.”

 

“And what a lovely shade of pink it is.”

 

Over a two hour meal that had been far too much for either of them, Zelena’s ears had picked up the conversation of a group of Americans somewhere near them. They had been too loud and boasted about treasure hunting in the desert, a lost city they had said without too much care. And the glint in Zelena’s eyes just grew brighter with intent. They order coffee for themselves and keep listening. It is quickly established that they are gang of idiots, each a different kind of idiot, but morons in the end. They begin to gather themselves, and talk about playing poker well into the night. Regina practically hears the bells ringing in her sister’s mind.

 

“I forget, are a Texan’s dollars still good if they are not won in a game of cards?” Zelena says placing her napkin on the table and getting to her feet.

 

Regina rolls her eyes. “Just try not to cause too much trouble.”

 

“That is an empty promise just hanging in the air.” Zelena kisses her cheek before hurrying out the dining room.

 

She should get some work done, Regina supposes. There are notes to be organized, texts to re-read, plans and schedules to be sketched out. It would be a sensible use of the day, and considering that Zelena will be off swindling a pack of idiots out of their money, Henry would just be returning home from school in Cairo, and Miss Swan is….doing God knows what, there is nothing she would rather do. Regina collects her things from her cabin and spreads out in a table that is shielded enough from the Sun but still exposed to the Nile’s breeze. She doesn’t notice the way her hair curls at the tips from the humidity or mind how heat builds at the nape of her neck. She cannot, not when she is immersed in the world of the old gods, reading about the clashes of giants, of the pain of Isis that is too human to be divine. She scribbles about hearts and the afterlife, still citing authors as if she still were a student. It is such a great and terrible thing that day changes into night without her acknowledgment. Regina is holding her breath as she examines a translation, that she secretly believes to be inaccurate, when there is a heavy and loud thud just in front of her.

 

“Hijo de…” This half curse that dies on her lips is the only sign of her startlement. Regina looks up to find Miss Swan standing there with an apologetic smile.

* * *

 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” Emma means it. She had miscalculated how hard her bag would fall on the chair.

 

“The only things that scare me Miss Swan are your manners.” Regina replies barely even looking at her as she sets her pencil down.

 

“May I?” Emma can’t help but roll her eyes as she gestures to the empty chair beside her.

 

“I suppose. You’ve all but taken over my work space.” Regina replies smoothing out her hair that is just curling at the tips. It’s probably something she does a lot, smooth and straighten out things that don’t have one imperfection. She sits and does not mention it.

 

“What is all this?” Emma can see scribbles, and notes on notes, maybe even a schedule of sorts. She has to keep from smiling because here is a woman with a plan, who looks like she could force things into fitting into it.

 

“Translations, historical records. Suppositions of what may be under Hamunaptra.” Regina meets her eyes confident that perhaps this not something she understands, something filthy Emma Swan who almost hanged could not possibly know anything about.

 

“The Book of Amun-Ra, locked in a chest of solid gold.” There is this satisfaction she gets when there’s a small twitch on Regina’s lips.

 

“You know your history.” It’s a reluctant praise, but Emma will take it.

 

“I know treasure. As do those Americans your sister currently trying to cheat at cards.” Emma won’t mention that they too have someone leading them, Regina doesn’t need to know that just yet. She reaches into her bag for pistols to begin loading, she’d seen the men’s gun holsters and they way they spoke about life and had eyed her. She had also survived the City of the Dead.

 

Regina watches her a whole three seconds before she breaks their silence. “Did I miss something? Are we going off to war?”

 

Emma lets out a breathy laugh because for all her bite and guardedness, Regina still does not believe that all there is out in the desert is sand and blood. She hopes she never comes to that point.

 

“No. I just like to be prepared.” Emma looks at her, pencil back in her hand and brow furrowed. “You think the book Amun-Ra is under that sand, right?”

 

“What do _you_ think is under it?” Her voice has yet to grow softer, but it’s still inviting in an odd way. It’s a challenge.

 

“Evil.”

 

Regina actually scoffs and looks at her, like for the first time she believes Emma is an idiot.

 

“What?”

 

“I just don’t believe evil is a thing. A spirit, just waiting to spring out from the desert.”Regina waves her hand around like she thinks a spirit would move.

 

“Then what is it?” Emma is not taunting her, not really. Regina speaks with this authority that’d make the most devout renounce their faith if she poked one miniscule hole in their argument.

 

“It’s something people do. It’s not something that can be born.It’s made.” The way she looks away into the night and sighs discretely tell Emma that is not something learned from books and tutors. It’s something Regina knows to her very bones, something that’s left a mark. Just like it had on Emma.

 

“I think you may be right.” Emma tells her still loading bullets into her weapons.

 

Regina only nods and goes back to her work, and Emma counts it as small victory that she has not been asked to leave. They continue this way, with only the bustle of the other passengers and the water to fill the air. Emma has never liked boats or ships, they remind her of when she was taken to America and she had thought it had been for good. Of when she had crossed the ocean back this side of the world trying to find herself or some sort of answers. Instead she had found a rifle to swing across her shoulder and been given boots to march on ground that did not belong to any soldier. No, she has never liked the water but sitting here stealing glances at Regina she hates it a little bit less. Smelling the freshness of the river, and feeling the breeze that catches wisps of her blonde hair and Regina’s dark one, she likes it better. For a moment, Emma considers telling Regina all this, how this boat, how this river, how she is different from a lot things she has encountered in her twenty-eight years but she stops herself. Shit. Shit. She has actually kissed Regina, she had smelled of jasmine and Emma had asked her to save her life. Her face grows warmer and her fingers begin fumbling. Because there isn’t a single graceful or delicate bone in her body Emma sets down her revolver so hard that the table shakes.

 

Regina looks up at her, furious this time. “Miss Swan is this something you’re doing for the express purpose of annoying me?”

 

“I..uhh..No. I’m not.” Emma shakes her head and focuses on the fading brown flowers painted on Regina’s fingers. “I...umm. Actually, I want to apologize.”

 

“Oh? In general or for something in specific?”

 

“For the kiss,” Emma says perhaps too quickly and with blood rising to her ears. “I thought I was going to die..and I didn’t think. It’s...it was wrong. I really shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

 

“To be frank I had forgotten all about it, dear.” It sounds rehearsed as Regina lowers her gaze back down to her work as to say how unimportant it is.

 

“Huh, well good,” This is apparently the right or wrong thing to say because Regina raises her eyes again at Emma, examining her. “I mean...not good, like that. Not that it was bad but..”

 

“Would you…” She lets out an exasperated sigh.

 

“I’m just very sorry”

 

“Yes, you’ve made that abundantly clear.” Regina begins gathering her notes and arranging them all in a neat pile to stuff inside a book. “Goodnight, Miss Swan.” She gets up, fixes her skirt, and turns on her heel away from Emma.

 

“Goodnight.” Emma says confused as she watches Regina walk away. It was definitely something she said but it’s impossible to pick one thing. Fuck.

 

* * *

 

Henry holds on to cool metal railing by the stables and watches the moon reflecting on the black water. He likes that his hair sticks up with the wind, the small splashes of water that sometimes hit his face. He’s eaten all the bread and sweets he’d packed into his bag and he should probably find mom soon but he can’t help but keeping staring at the Nile. In Cairo it looked murky and brown, something he’d look down to from a road. Kasim swore he saw three crocodiles eat a dog by the banks one time, but Kasim lies about a lot of things. But after that day Henry had always been careful to never ever be by the water. He can’t stop looking at it now because he remembers his mom telling him about his name. She says that names should always mean something and his is special because it tells his whole story. Henry Daniel Moses Mills, it is long but it is his. Henry because it was abuelo’s name and this is where family comes from. Daniel, and this he doesn’t really understand but he supposes one day he will, because he’ll have to face lions and be brave. Moses, and this is his favorite, because mom had picked him up from the river.

 

Well, not exactly true. But still, he likes to picture mom dressed like an Egyptian Queen stepping gracefully into the water to take him in her arms. The truth is that it had been a stormy night. It had been raining for so long, that the Thames looked like it was going to swallow the roads, mom had said. She was living in a house for bright young women, trying to study when she heard wailing out her window. No one else seemed to notice, so she raced down the stairs and opened the front door to find him in a basket. And the river was so high and so much water was pouring from the sky that it looked like he had been brought by the river. She had taken one look at him, she said, con sus colochos apenas formados and beautiful skin that was just a tad darker than hers that she knew right there and then that he was her son. And that was that. Henry Daniel Moses Mills. Archeologist, adventure, he adds that now. Mom would like it, he thinks.

 

Henry feels a hand going into his back pocket and something sharp pulling him back.

 

“What’s a brat like you doing with this kind of money?” He says waving the notes Henry had saved for a whole year in front of his face.

 

“Give it back!”Henry lunges at him and he puts up something between them. He has no hand, instead he has a shiny metal hook. His face is white and his eyes are a mean green.

 

“You speak English, lad?” He ruffles Henry’s curls with his only hand and laughs. _Laughs._

 

“Give it back you slimy…”

 

“Or what?” Hook, that’s what Henry starts calling him in his mind, laughs again.

 

“Or I’ll..I’ll..” Maybe this is what mom meant when she talked about lions. He looks at his feet because he is trying to think of something clever to say. Something a hero in a story would say.

 

“Hey!” A woman’s voice says from behind them.

 

Henry looks up, it’s the woman with the long blonde hair he’d seen with Auntie Zelena and mom at the docks in the morning. She moves in to grab Hook’s hand, and her eyes are not a mean shade of green. They’re kind, a different kind than mom’s, but kind.

 

“Jones,” She doesn’t sound one bit surprised. “I might have known you were the one leading the Americans,” She looks down at Henry. “Give the kid back his money.”

 

“The lad and I were just having fun, weren’t we son?” He’s nervous, very nervous. Henry likes her already.

 

“No, we weren’t miss.” He moves to stand next to her and glares at him in the way Auntie Zelena says makes him look like mom.

 

“Now.” She orders him.

 

Hook hands him the notes back with a nervous laugh. Henry hates him. His metal hook catches her attention.

 

“Did a croc get your hand, Jones?” She puts her arm in front of Henry, like mom does whenever a driver brakes suddenly.

 

“Like I haven’t heard that before.” He smiles like it’s actually funny

 

She laughs and steps closer to him and keeps laughing. It sounds fake. “Why don’t we let it finish the job, huh?”

 

“What?”

 

She grabs his shirt and pushes him against the railing. “Bye Killian!” She throws him overboard.

 

Henry looks up at her, not knowing what to say. And she smiles, like she doesn’t know how to talk to him. “He’ll be fine, kid. See, the shore’s right there,” She points at the sandy banks and tosses in a life saver for good measure. “Jones is like a cockroach. He’ll survive anything.”

 

Henry only nods in agreement. He did look like a cockroach to him.

 

“You’re all right, kid?” She is awkward and not like anyone he knows. Not that he knows a lot of people. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

 

“No miss, I’m fine.”

 

“Name’s Emma. What’s yours?” She smiles and crouches down to his level, because maybe she thinks that’s what she’s supposed to do. He notices the holsters and two guns just under her arms. She wears two leather cuffs on her wrists and her sleeves are rolled up to her elbows. Her hair is tied back and falls on her back. No one wears like that.

 

“Henry.”

 

“You’ve got parents onboard, Henry?” She’s studying him, taking in the socks that go up just below his knees and his clean and white buttoned shirt.

 

“Just my mom.” He replies as he hears his stomach growl. Emma shakes her head laughing lightly.

 

“What’s your mom’s name?” And he knows that Emma knows her, so he breathes in and looks her straight in the eye.

 

“Regina Mills.” She loses her balance and falls flat on her behind. Now he lets out a laugh.

  
  


* * *

 

She should not be pacing like a caged lion inside her cabin, there is no reason to be upset. But Regina knows her mind well, how determined and obsessive it can be. How it can hold onto things until they either turn wonderful or severely ugly. Nevermind that it is something so idiotic as Emma Swan being glad when she claimed she had forgotten their kiss. Regina wishes she had, so she wouldn’t be reeling shoe-less and disheveled, only half ready for bed and book in hand in cabin 108. There is a knock on her door, a rather insistent one. Zelena would have simply barged in, and she braces herself to encounter the face of her growing headache. Sheepish smile and eyes that are too honest for her own good.  She swings the door open as the takes a deep breath.

 

“Miss Swan I’ve had enough of your apologies for a night now if you would please..” She stops frozen with her hand on the door when her eyes travel downward and find Henry standing in front of her.

 

“Hi.”She gives her a half shrug and a half smile.Her hand is on her son’s shoulder. Regina is still standing there with her mouth open.

 

“Mom!” Henry says and he is excited, like his mission is about to be accomplished. “Emma found me. Well, she saved me from this man with a hook and you should have seen what..”

 

“Henry Daniel Moses Mills!” It’s what Regina finally says when she pulls him into the cabin. Somehow, Emma Swan considers this to be an invitation. Her mind is too occupied working out the how’s and the order of events to be too concerned about her. “You are supposed to be in bed. In Cairo. En la casa.”

 

“I know mom but you need me. Y usted me prometio!” His tone turns accusatory over the last four words. “Your Arabic isn’t as good..and..and” Henry has made a list of things why he is needed and she feels her heart growing with affection as her head throbs with anger.

 

“Y nada, hijo. You disobeyed me! Granny and Yaquta must be worried sick over you, thinking this is their fault!” Regina is not entirely convinced that it isn’t, but she knows her son. Too smart to be held back by anything or anyone. “Did you even stop to think about this?”

 

Henry looks down, and she knows his eyes are glassy the way they get when he is upset and knows it’s his fault. “I’m sorry…”

 

“We’re getting off when we next dock and on a boat back to Cairo.”

 

“But...NO! You can’t do that!” Henry looks up at Emma Swan, evidently thinking he has found an accomplice. “Tell her.”

 

“Sorry, kid. Your mom’s right. I’m sure you’re really good at...”

 

“I appreciate your support, but I think I need to speak to my son alone.” Regina says cutting short whatever speech she was about to give him.

 

“Right. Sure. I will just,” Her demeanor changes, gone from unsure and to a hard and frightening look. She raises a finger to her lips to signal her to be quiet and then gestures for them to get behind her.

 

“What on Earth are you..”

 

The wooden windows shutter smashes open and there is an armed figure. She is too fast for them and they fall through the window, knocking down her kerosene lamp and setting her sofa on fire.  Another one bursts in and Regina just manages to shield Henry from them.

 

“The key, where is the key?!” They say and they push Miss Swan against the wall that is closest to the fire. Regina has never seen anything like this, she is relentless in her defense and pushes them off her and into the fire.

 

Regina feels her hand grabbing hers and her own around Henry’s. “Let’s go, go, go!”

 

“Wait, what about the map?!” Regina asks unable to help herself, her obsessiveness sprouting at the worst possible moment.

 

“We don’t need a map, it’s all right here!” She presses two fingers to her temples as the run from the fire.

 

“Well that’s comforting!” It’s out of her mouth before she can register it. Apparently danger and fire make her tongue sharper.

 

* * *

 

 

Fire is coming from every direction. Goddammit, they haven’t even reached the desert for the blood to begin running. Regina’s hand is still in hers as the make their way through the boat as she shoots. Nothing is going according to any plan Regina had drawn up, and Emma should not be as surprised as she is. She hates this. She hates that there is a scared kid with them now, a frightened little boy who had just wanted to find his mother. Shit, shit. She needs to get them out of here. Emma feels Regina pulling her back violently.

 

“Look out!” She says just as a dagger hits the wood where her head used to be. Emma nods and hurries away with them. This is a stupid situation and no one should have to be here.  They need to leave. Now.

 

She hears the horses neighing and the cries in more than two languages to abandon the boat. Emma takes Regina and Henry to the side of the ship.

 

“Can you swim?”

 

“Of course we can swim, if the occasion calls for it!” What is it with this woman and her polite brand of snark in the face of danger?

 

“Trust me, it calls for it!” She presses a life saver against Regina’s chest and pushes her and Henry overboard.

 

Emma hurries to grab her bag and sees Zelena jumping into the black water. She follows suit as fire keeps erupting behind her.

 

“Auntie Zelena, Emma!” She hears Henry call out from somewhere in front of her.

 

“Hey kid, keep talking so I can find you! Is your mom with you?”

 

“We’re over here!” She hears Regina reply. “Just keep swimming straight!”

 

In no time they’re an odd group in the water. Crocs, crocs, she thinks. Emma kicks harder at the water and leads the way to the shore. Everyone is panting and on their knees on the sand.

 

“All my tools, all my clothes, my books.” Regina mind seems to process shock and fear using trivialities. Emma understands, she used to do it herself.

 

“Mom. Mom.” Henry says as he gets to his feet and tries to pull her up. Emma herself gets up when Regina does.

 

“I’m fine, I’m fine. We’re fine, aren’t we?” Regina pulls him into a hug.

 

“Yes, we are.” Zelena replies as she turns to lie on her back. “Glad I keep my money in my pocket now.”  They all laugh because that’s the only thing to do.

 

“Hey, SWAAAAN!” Calls a voice from the opposite bank. It’s Jones. The rat-cockroach pig bastard. “LOOKS TO ME LIKE I’VE GOT ALL THE HORSES!”

 

“HEY JONES, LOOKS TO ME LIKE YOU’RE ON THE WRONG SIDE OF THE RIVER.” Emma replies in the same sing-song he had used.

 

He looks around himself and kicks at the water while cursing. Emma smirks at the sight. She turns back to look at the family behind her. Zelena is still on her back, with no intention of moving. Henry is looking at her like she is going to get them out of this and Regina is trying not to place all her faith in her. She was already unhappy about depending on her and now it must pain her to be lost and unsure. But they are going to be fine, they are fine. They are going to figure it out. Emma gives a her a slight nod, and she is glad to see Regina understands.

 

“This way.” Regina tells her as she grabs Henry’s hand. “Watch your step, hijo. Zelena, get up.”

 

Yes, they are going to be fine. They have to be.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Her feet are better now that they have been washed and dressed with ointment. Regina had never noticed how many pebbles littered the ground until she was forced on her barefeet and felt them cutting into the smoothness of her soles. They were lucky to had been stranded so close to a village. They were an odd foursome, she in her cotton undershirt and bell-shaped skirt, Henry with his soaked shoes that squeaked with each step, Zelena and the blouse that stuck to her body and the red hair that fell down her back, and Miss Swan in her trousers and wet dog expression. It was a strike of good fortune that the first person Regina and Henry spoke to was too eager to help, leading them and Zelena into her home. A water basin and cloth were brought to her followed by a warm smile. It is the early morning now, and the familiar smell of bread is filling the air and she can hear Henry laughing with her sister somewhere outside. If she wanted to, she could forget that there was a decision to be made, return to Cairo or continue out into the desert. The sound thing to do, she knows, is to turn around and forget about this whole ill-advised enterprise. But she hears her son and remembers that all things that have been worthwhile in her life have started out as foolish and rash. Her mind remains indecisive as she gets up to return the basin.

 

 _“Thank you. God bless your kindness.”_ Regina says knowing that her accent coats her words heavily. She keeps her sentences short as to avoid the occasional slips.

 

 _“It was God’s will that I found you.”_ She says her eyes travelling down to her still bare feet. _“You will be needing sandals to cover your feet.”_

 

 _“Only if I can pay for them.”_ It has never been one of her abilities to rely on the kindness of others, in her experience good had only been bestowed on her for the wrong reasons. Cosas malas que parecen buenas. But looking at her hostess, in her black house dress and flour dusted hands Regina knows to leave those thoughts aside. The fair thing to do is to pay, that much is obvious.

 

 _“You can.”_ She gives a tentative smile and it’s only then that Regina notices the absence of a husband and suddenly understands.

  


_“May I trouble you for something to wear?”_ She gestures at her half undressed state, the wrinkled cotton that is thin enough to be indecent.

 

“ _Of course. We can’t have you enduring the Sun and the eyes of strangers  like that.”_  She replies as she fetches a few qaftans from the back of the room.

  
  


Regina settles for a black qaftan with golden details around the end of the sleeves and collar. It looks like it would fit her well. She puts it over her head and removes her ruined skirt once her body is covered. She takes a minute to feel the soft dyed cotton against her skin, it’s the first time she has worn one of these. In all the three years she has lived in Egypt, she has never deviated from any sort of Western fashion, cravats, long skirts and even Oxfords. Constraining but it had all she had ever known. There had always been that familiar thought in the back of her mind telling her that she is not Egyptian enough to dress like this. Just like there isn’t  enough of Puerto Rico in her to allow for full life in the island, but too much of it shows on her skin and hair to lead a fair one in New York and London. The qaftan is loose and the feeling is unfamiliar; she can’t decide whether it’s unpleasant or not.

 

Regina calls Henry in and uses Spanish to ask for some of the money he kept in his pocket, as all her notes had gone down with the boat. He is too happy to comply feeling as if his worth as companion is already being proved. She cannot really argue against the notion as she watches him thank their hostess for her help.  

 

“So will we be reading about Hamunaptra in the papers?” Zelena asks as they leave the house, eyeing her new attire but saying nothing. She has enough sense to hold her tongue. “Or should I find us horses?”

 

Henry looks up at her with hopeful eyes and they’ve come this far. Already survived danger, it couldn’t all be for nothing.

 

“I think you better fetch us some horses, dear.” Regina smiles as the words register with her son. And he jumps up in excitement, perhaps she spoils him a bit. But it cannot be helped when the child is one such as Henry.

 

“Emma said she had a feeling we’d go.” Henry tells her with the confidence young boys possess. Zelena only looks at her with those wicked eyes of hers.

 

“Where is Miss Swan anyway? Can’t find a lost city without our map.” Regina pulls her hair away from her face as she leads the way.

 

“Buying supplies, she said. To make up for the ones we lost.”

 

* * *

 

There are no horses in the village, as it turns out. Only camels, which Henry doesn’t mind one bit. Mom does, she has always been good with horses. Camels can’t be that much different, he reasons. They look better tempered if anything, and they’re taller. That should count for something. He jumps to the chance when Auntie Zelena says she needs help negotiating the price of three camels, because no matter how much he insists he will not be getting one of his own. His mom allows him to help his aunt it even if she’s shaking her head.

 

Auntie Zelena isn’t making this easy.

 

“Three, I only want three! Not the whole bloody herd! Tell him Henry!” She is waving her hands around impatiently and mom is just standing far enough away from them so that she can pretend she doesn’t know Auntie Zelena as she sighs into her hand.

 

Henry tries his best, but the man is not having any of it.

 

“He says two of the camels are female and good for milk. You’re lucky he is not asking more for his best camels.”

 

“Unbelievable the price of these fleabags.” She mutters.

 

“Auntie Zelena can you just pay him so we can go?” Henry thinks he can hear his mom suppressing a laugh behind him.

 

“Fine, fine. Even if we’re being robbed blind. Terrible haggler you turned out to be.” She hands the man the money and takes the camels’ reins from him.

 

He sees Emma approaching somehow carrying three large palm baskets with her along with her bag swung over her shoulder. It makes him wonder how strong she must be because she doesn’t seem to be struggling too much. Mom’s eyes change when she sees her, a stranger wouldn’t notice but he does. Because mom has never looked at anyone like that, has never had trouble looking away from someone. It’s like she is trying very hard not to see Emma, fighting a smile maybe. He wishes she wouldn’t though, but Henry knows his mom and no one can force her to do anything she doesn’t want to do.

 

She drops the baskets at their feet and cracks her back.

 

“These are ours?” Emma points at the camels and he nods as he opens one of the baskets.

 

His face turns sour as he peeks inside. Salted meat.

 

“Hey don’t turn your nose up at that kid. It stays good for weeks.” She winks her eye at him. “There is bread, dates, and cheese too.”

 

“That was very considerate of you.” Mom says and he knows she chose her words very carefully by the way she raises her left eyebrow.

 

Now it’s Emma’s expression that changes, it’s like she hadn’t noticed mom before she had spoken. And now she can’t stop looking at her, if Henry were mean he would poke her and tease her about it. But he likes Emma and her rough manners, and he isn’t mean so he just watches.

 

‘Uhh..It was no problem. It’s stuff we needed. Food. Blankets. Lumber.” She rubs the back of her head and shrugs her shoulders.

 

“If there’s any sort of alcohol in there, I think we’re good to go.” Auntie Zelena says.

 

“Second basket.” Emma replies beginning to load them onto the camels.

 

Henry had not counted on the desert being this hot, it’s like the air itself has waves. He rides with mom, the long hair he hadn’t noticed until today sometimes tickles his forehead. His shoes and socks are tied to the side so they can dry properly. It’s not a nice smell.  Auntie Zelena gets him to sing and he knows the rhyme is dirty because of the glare mom throws her way. Emma is up ahead, occasionally looking back at him and mom and gives them a smile that is barely even there before turning back.

 

By the time his behind hurts they stop to stretch their legs and eat a bit. Emma offers to have him ride with her and he agrees before mom has a chance to reject the idea. Mom has a hard time denying him things he’s so sure of. Well, most of the time. She watches how Emma helps him get settled, how she makes sure a blanket shields him from the Sun and Henry can tell mom is pleased. It’s something he will be thinking about, maybe it could be the beginning of new operation. But then the Sun begins turning orange and the sand changes color and he forgets about that for a while. It’s like magic, like something out  mom’s books and paintings. The gods really do live here, he thinks. If he were a god, he would. If he were Horus he would like to fly over this, with his wings spread out. His one eye watching the wind dance over the sand. Dios tuerto y fuerte.The Sun goes down and the orange of the desert turns to blue. Emma announces that they should rest for the night.

 

“But if we kept going through the night we could arrive before those Texans.” Mom says still up on her camel.

 

“Trust me, we’re as close as we’re going to get for today.” Emma makes the camel lie down and helps him off. “The city can only be found at first light.”

 

Mom is doing that thing when she presses her lips together because she thinks what she just heard is stupid. 

 

“Well my bum can certainly take no more today, so I say we listen to Swan here.” Auntie Zelena says before mom can protest. She lays her camel down next his and Emma’s.

 

“It’s hard to argue with a majority like this.”  Mom says as she gives in with just the slightest eye-roll.

 

“Not that it’s ever stopped you.” His aunt replies. He sees Emma shaking her head as she removes dry wood and blankets from the camel’s back.

 

* * *

 

 

This Emma has always enjoyed, the way the moonlight hits the dunes and how the red of the fire mixes with the black of night. The sparks escaping the flames look like they’re joining the stars in the sky. She is sure that someone before her would have thought this and used better words, so she says nothing and looks over Regina and Henry huddled over the fire. Zelena is propped on her elbows, eyes tracking the singular cloud in the sky. With this quiet she notices how the then-wet-now-dry leather of her cuffs is chafing her wrists. Biting her lip, she removes them and is not surprised to find her skin red. Emma can’t help but attack it even more with her nails. Damn things, she should have known better.

 

“What is that on your wrist?” Henry asks while pointing to where Emma’s efforts to tear her skin off are focused.

 

She removes her hand so he can get a clearer view, and for the first time she doesn’t mind this curiosity. Kid is all big brains and an even bigger heart. It’s worth it, the way his eyes light up and how he pulls at Regina to get her attention.

 

“Mom, look! It’s the eye of Horus!” He is examining the black eye that is inked onto that batch of pale skin.

 

Regina only nods with something that Emma assumes is judgement. And she thinks about re-cuffing her wrist away from her eyes but stops because Henry keeps looking back and forth between them.

 

“Is that what this is?” She asks him honestly.

 

Emma knows so little about this tattoo on her wrist. She knows she cried and tried to snatch her hand away. But it was held in place by a pair of rough hands and a voice asking her to be good and strong. She looks down at where it begins, just under her palm. It has a sort of tail that curls to the end of her wrist. It’s so delicate, so unlike her. It used to look so big on her; it’s like she’s grown into it. Emma can’t help it if she’s bitter about that detail.

 

“You mean you have no idea what a mark on your body means?” Regina snipes, her eyes and voice hardening.

 

Emma doesn’t know if this is an imagined slight or not but she feels her voice growing defensive in her throat.

 

“No, I don’t,”Emma watches for some change in Regina, she sees none. “Some Englishman picked me from an orphanage in Cairo, took me to America and slapped this on my wrist when I was four. Said something about me being born to protect and then dropped me at another orphanage in New York.” She has said too much, more than she has ever said to anyone. Fear seeps into her stomach, because her tone had turned biting when she hadn’t meant it and her past is...her past. Nothing but her last name had come from it. Shit.

 

Regina expression turns soft. It’s not pity and Emma knows what that looks like on a person’s face. Pity is the way someone smiles without really meaning to when they look at a girl’s torn shoes that are already a size too small. It’s how they catch air in between their cheeks when they say “my what pretty blonde hair you have!” when they see boney arms and legs. It was only ever good to make Emma’s blood boil and think “fuck you” over and over again. Regina’s gaze is nothing like that, it’s something layered with meaning. It’s as if something just fit together inside her and Emma wonders what it is. Because she places a hand on Henry’s back and gives him a look, one that she knows means “I love you” because no one has looked at her like that. Henry seems like he is about to jump out of his thin and small body, his messy curls are already bouncing up and down. Like he has a secret he can finally share. But she gives her son a warning, as if to say “not yet” with her eyes and this Emma recognizes.

 

“He was wrong.” Regina tells her quietly. It sounds like an apology by the way there are traces of shame in her words.

 

“Who was?”

 

The red of the fire is reflected in her eyes when she looks at Emma, and she feels the air stupidly catching in her throat. Regina really is too damn beautiful for Emma’s sanity. Henry smiles like he knows; he’s been watching her. Little shit, she thinks feeling warmth spreading across her chest.

 

“The man who gave you that mark,” She tosses her now loose hair back, like she is not used to it being there.  “Of course, it wouldn’t be the first time an Englishman got something wrong, but the point remains. It doesn’t mean you were born to protect.”

 

“It doesn’t?” And Emma can’t say for sure, but something changes within her chest. She thinks of the first time she was told to shoot against her will, when she had to choose between prison or a pistol. The eye on her wrist had seemed like it judged her more than she judged herself. Now she doesn’t feel as big of a disappointment.

 

“No. The Wedjat is meant to ward off evil, to protect anyone or anything who bears it. Quite the opposite of what you were told,” And there is a smug smile on her lips now, as if Regina is happy to have one-upped a rat she’s never met. Emma could look at her smile like that all night.“Perhaps that is what saved you from the gallows that day.”

 

“I thought that was you.” She replies before she can stop herself. Fuck.  Zelena snickers and Emma is glad no one can see how red her ears have turned.

 

* * *

 

There has been a mistake in Miss Swan’s words, Regina knows because her eyes have widened just enough to indicate embarrassment. In these few minutes she has managed to gather that there had been one too many revelations. Goading, however unintentional, on Regina’s part had pulled them out of her. She does not feel completely guilty about it she  has to admit.

 

Miss Swan clears her throat. “That is...umm pretty henna you have there,” She points at Regina’s hands that lie on on top of the other on her lap. It is not the cleverest way to steer the conversation away from herself, but Regina will allow it. “What is it, ten days old?”

 

She feels her eyebrows rise in surprise. “Twelve. My neighbor’s daughter was about to married, I was invited to the gathering the night before her wedding.”

 

“Oh.” There is a strange sort of relief in that one word. Her lips are too naturally pink, made red by the fire. They are kind some cheap poet would describe as rosebuds. Regina indulges in three more seconds of keeping them in her sight before she settles her eyes away from them.

 

Twelve nights ago Regina had sat in a large warm room surrounded by so many women. Bodies plump and beautiful, talking with and over each other. Yaquta had been lining Jumana’s eyes with kohl, maybe telling her to stop fidgeting and keep her mouth open. There had been such joy contained there, and yet she knows that it was nothing she had felt. She had observed the rituals and had understood that she would never have anything like it. All she could be had been a spectator, understanding but never participating. One of the guests had grabbed Regina’s hands and asked if she wanted flowers drawn on them, the henna was darker than usual and would last for quite some time. The bride had intricate designs drawn with the same dye on her perfumed skin, art meant for her future husband.  Regina had felt the cool paste stick to her skin and known it would be for her eyes alone. Now by this fire, she keeps her hands very still under the other woman’s gaze.

 

“Was that girl’s, Jumana, wedding?” Zelena asks still contemplating the sky.

 

“It was. So much food too! And there were two separate singers, and dancing” Henry replies excitedly. He had loved the whole event, being one of the few allowed to walk freely from the women’s party to the men’s.

 

“Sounds like you had a good time.” Miss Swan says clearly unsure of what to add.

 

Zelena snorts. “Who was the lucky bridegroom? Surely the poor fool who pretended not to be looking at her window every day.”

 

“Dawud?” Henry volunteers, he likes him. He would constantly encounter him on his way back from school and get him to engage in a pretend sword fight. Regina appreciates him for that.

 

“One in the same idiot.” Regina says.

 

Truly the girl had been lucky to have had the object of her affection as her groom. That is how things resolved themselves for Jumana and people like her, as if the gods rewarded their inherent goodness. Fate is ever in their favor, it is nothing that they had ever tried to escape. Deep inside there is bit of resentment when she lingers on such things. Regina was born with more than one language residing in her tongue, and with the wrong inclinations. Destiny is something she has been fighting ever since she took her first breath.

 

“Isn’t her father the one who sent a matchmaker to the house a month after you had met him?”

 

“He what?” And the outrage doesn’t come from Henry, who had remained blissfully ignorant, but from Miss Swan. Too bright and lovely a face for the life she has led, Regina thinks. Too kind a heart.

 

“That is him, indeed,” A shudder goes down her spine as she remembers the man. Old enough to be her father, clearly infatuated with Regina since the day she pulled Jumana out of the way of coming car as they crossed a street. “I turned the offer down, of course.” Regina looks directly at the other woman as she replies.

 

Miss Swan just nods and tosses a twig into the fire. Pokes at it until sparks rush from the flames so she can watch them ascend.

 

“Good.” Says Henry and she smiles at her son. “I don’t like him.”

 

“Oh my darling nephew, I don’t think you are ever in any danger of acquiring a father.” Zelena says and laughs too amused by her own joke, Regina just rolls her eyes in response. Miss Swan, however, chokes on nothing but air.  Regina has the grace to ignore it.

 

It is not too long before they are on their backs trying to get some sleep before dawn. Henry is gently snoring between Regina and Zelena. Her sister’s arms are splayed wide, as if she is hoping to catch the wind. Miss Swan, however remains sitting.Green eyes intent on watching the desert,as if someone might come in the night and steal them away. Her shoulders are straight, it makes her look like a cobra standing tall ready to strike. Suddenly the eye of Horus seems to suit her perfectly. Regina will not tell her this, she only watches wisps of blonde hair move with the breeze before she decides to closer her eyes. Eye of Horus, Eye of Ra, the names float around her mind. There had always something that pulled her to the Eye of Ra, the lion headed goddess Sekhmet. Rageful and blood thirsty; con nombre de guerra. Baring her yellowed teeth as she roars drenched in the red of the land, drunk on beer and her imagined carnage. It is her uncontrollable fury the last thing Regina sees before the night takes her.

                                                                -----------------------------------------

They are atop their camels completely still looking completely moronic. Dawn is about to break and all they have been doing is staring at the desert that seems to stretch out infinitely. It’s ridiculous to think that an ancient city can just manifest itself, for all its fire the Sun is not a god who can make cities appear from nothing. It’s not long before the Texans arrive on horseback, and with them a whole crew of laborers trailing after them. Perhaps she should be intimidated by such a display, but she is not.

 

“Hey Swan nice camels.” A distinct English voice says behind them. It belongs to the man from the banks of the river.  Miss Swan doesn’t reply and merely pats her camel’s head.

 

“Get ready.” She tells Regina and Henry.

 

“For what?” Regina is still incredulous.

 

“We’re about to be shown the way.” A heavy sigh escapes her like she is bracing herself.

 

Perhaps she expertly timed her words because by then the Sun rises and its rays begin hitting the sand just as a gust of wind begins unveiling the outline of city. It is not something that should be possible, but there it is. A city made real by the Sun and maybe there is some merit in thinking it a god. There is not enough time for her mind to reconcile that the world’s limits have just expanded because Miss Swan has just taken off, clearly locked in some sort of competition with the man from before.

 

“Mom...” Henry says pointing at the racing horse and camel ahead of them.  His voice sounds just as intent in beating the man as Miss Swan looks it. It would a lie to say that it is not something she too would enjoy.

 

She whips the camel enough to get it going and soon enough, to both their delight, they have caught up with the two of them. The man has taken to whipping Miss Swan and Regina is not really surprised to see her stop his whip mid air and drag him off his horse.

 

“Bye Killian!” Is all she says without even taking her eyes off the city.

 

“Serves you right!” Henry exclaims as he looks down at him with clear disdain.

 

Regina catches the satisfaction in Miss Swan’s expression and she decides it is not enough. It is now of supreme importance to be the first to set foot in Hamunaptra, so she urges her camel on with her voice and whip. Zelena whistles somewhere behind them as and Miss Swan let out a laugh as they cross the border between the desert and the lost city.

 

They are here in the city of myth, the City of the Dead, the impossible one made real by sunlight. Regina has to remember how to breathe.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jumana=Margaret (I didn't want to repeat Maryam)  
> Dawud=David
> 
> Guys, Egyptian mythology is so great. The Eye of Horus is represented by a cobra rising up in protection. Sekhmet is one of the few goddesses that can be called the Eye of Ra, but she is special because Ra had to get her drunk with beer dyed red to get her to stop killing men. Gotta appreciate a goddess who is so extra.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: thoughts of suicide, mentions of child abuse, self-harm, gun violence, and a racist slur.

Somehow this place is everything she remembers and nothing like it. She blinks once and Emma can see the blood, the bodies. She remembers the weight of rifle settled on her shoulder. The flying bullets. But then she blinks again and sees only an abandoned city. Regina walking around as if she’s trying to determine something Emma has yet to learn, and Henry following closely behind, squinting as the Sun hits his face. The kid is set on being his mom’s partner in this is, and no one really has the heart to deny him that. Especially not Regina, he has her wrapped around his little finger. There is that old ache in her heart when she watches them because mother and son belong together and Emma has never belonged. Maybe at first she had wondered if they realize how lucky they are, if they know that not everyone gets to have love because there isn’t enough to go around. But there is this shadow that obscures Regina’s eyes for no more than a second and it is clear that there is nothing she takes for granted. Like maybe all her lessons on family have been hard earned ones.

 

It takes her longer than it should but the campsite is finally safe and theirs. Emma made sure of that. It’s up in what used to be a tall structure overlooking the ruins. It would be comforting to say that she had picked it because of the view. Because dusk would be a marriage of the cool night sky and warm sand, but the simple truth is that she doesn’t like surprises. It really is a good vantage point, she decides looking at Henry who is probably talking quick as lighting with a labourer. The man,no, boy walks away with a friendly wave to Henry.

 

“Too bad we won’t be making a penny off this place.” Zelena tells her as she rolls up her sleeves.

 

The sentence is confusing at least and Emma’s sure her expression gives her away as she looks at Zelena. “We’re not?” Maybe she has been reading this whole thing wrong.

 

“Oh, don’t look at me like that! I’m not totally dishonorable. I only peddle forgeries I get from the roadside vendors. I trade on idiocy, not history. My dear customers think they get a pretty Egyptian token to show off and I get rich. Or, considerably less broke for a month or two,” Zelena sighs lightly.“Besides, dear sis would never stand for it. She’d probably rip my throat out.”

 

Truthfully, this had caught Emma off guard. She hadn’t expected this from her, in fact she hadn’t stopped to consider Zelena at all. And suddenly she’s curious. “Then why are you here?”

 

Zelena smiles but it lacks any mischief. It’s sincere, the smile. “For Regina. I’m not always a good sister to her.” Then something changes and Emma can practically see laughter bubbling up to her eyes. “Don’t tell her I said that. She’d never let me forget it.” Zelena tells her as she leaves.

 

That is sentiment Emma can understand. She rubs her neck, still hurting and bruised. From almost choking to death. Of course she can see how Regina is the reason she’s here, even when this place is giving her a permanent chill down her spine. Heading down the ruins and across the Americans’ camp she has an idea. One she would have had when she was fifteen, but really she can’t help herself. There is a whole tool set lying by a tent, neatly folded in leather. Emma remembers Regina by the banks of the Nile and the way she had listed off the things she had lost. This is just evening out the playing field as far as Emma is concerned. The Americans’ group is four times as big as theirs. Whoever was stupid enough to leave their tools lying around deserves to lose them. It’s sound logic. She grabs it without another thought as she continues on her way.

 

“Sweetheart, you’re meant to catch the Sun with that.” Regina tells Henry as she’s angling a round metal mirror to do just that herself.

 

“Umm..what’s with these old mirrors?” Emma can feel the words sticking to her throat as they seem to do more and more these days. Fuck.  

 

“Ancient mirrors, Miss Swan,” She corrects her with that not so thin veil of superiority that Emma should mind more. “It’s an ancient Egyptian trick, you’ll see.”

 

“Right. Well..I got you something. For you and the kid, I mean. For umm..you know,” Emma imitates a hammer and chisel and then hands her the kit before she makes more of an ass of herself. “Borrowed it from our American friends over there.”

 

For a moment Regina looks just as flustered as Emma is but it quickly vanishes. “Thank you.” If she is touched she is hiding it well. Almost.

 

“Yeah, it’s nothing.” She tries to make it light and unimportant but Emma knows her dumb smile isn’t helping her. “Need help with anything?”

 

“Yes, actually. See that?” Regina points at an opening on the ground opposite the statue of a god, she guesses, with a jackal’s head. “We need to get down there.”

 

Emma recognizes the spot now, it’s where she had been cornered and left to fend with whatever the hell is underneath it. The ground is silent this time, like it’s glad they are here. Somehow that makes her feel worse. But she swallows back those thoughts, and decides to ignore her gut. Emma secures a rope around a rough pillar with the tightest knot she knows how to tie and throws it down into the dark followed by a flaming torch.

 

“Check for bugs. I hate bugs.” Zelena tells her with a grimace as Emma begins climbing down the opening.

 

She lands with a rough thud and calls for them to come down. The kid is obviously having the time of his life, all smiles and wide eyes as he slips off the rope. Emma doesn’t quite get how is it that Regina manages to keep her grace as she lands without making a single sound. She is moving with a strange sort of confidence, comfortable in this darkness. There is no hesitation in her steps when she spots something. It would be terrifying in different circumstances, Emma thinks. But here and now, it’s pretty damn captivating.

 

“And then there was light.” Regina says as she moves another old...ancient mirror upward. Sunlight bounces from corner to corner as it floods the room.

 

“Woah.” Henry says looking like he’s trying not to blink so he doesn’t miss a single thing.

 

“Yeah, woah is right. That is a neat trick.” Emma says examining the room herself. It’s tight and the stone is dark unlike the one making up the pillars in the surface. It’s covered in cobwebs and the air is stale.

 

“Oh my God, it’s a preparation room.” Regina is clearly wrapped in the atmosphere of this place. Like she had walked into a dream, and for all Emma knows, maybe she had.

 

“Preparation for what?” Emma is at a clear disadvantage with this family but it doesn’t bother her. Not too much, anyway.

 

“For entering the afterlife.” Henry drops his voice as if that could ever make him sound like a ghoul.

 

She pauses to think it over and finds that she’s still not catching their meaning.

 

“Mummies, pet. This is where they made mummies.” Zelena chimes in.

 

Regina leads them through a passageway and Emma can’t shake out this ugly feeling as she follows. She had felt it before, that day. It had felt evil and horrifying. That’s what she had thought in her panic when the sand had hissed at her and chased her out of the city. But what she feels now is more frightening. Because it isn’t. It’s like that feeling she gets when she stands at the edge of a cliff and wonders what it would be like to jump.  To given in, to let go. To make things so, so easy. To say yes to every dark impulse. A gust of wind runs by them, and Emma is pretty sure that is not a thing that should happen here. There is a strange sound ringing throughout the place, like a whisper running through the walls. For good measure, Emma removes a pistol from her holster. And maybe Regina feels this thing too, because she sees the gun in her hand and doesn’t protest when Emma had expected her to. Instead she keeps going, shielding Henry as she goes.

 

They come to a rectangular room, darker and more suffocating than the last. The sound hasn’t gone away, it’s stronger. This time Emma steps in front of Regina and motions for them to stick to the base of a large statue, the twin of the one up in the city. She jumps away from the her hiding spot, gun in hand. Like it would make a goddamn difference.

 

“Ya scared the beejezus out of us!” One of the Texans exclaims, his gun pointed between her eyes.

 

“Likewise.” She sighs in relief, it was only them. As they lower their guns and the others join her Emma realizes just how wrong this could have gone so quickly. Jones is there, the coward smiling like he has the upper hand. Rat bastard.

 

One of them, the one that looks like more of a son a bitch than the rest of them actually looks fucking triumphant.“This is our statue, friend.”

 

Emma scowls and sets her feet apart. She has never been able to play nice. “I don’t see your name on it, pal.”

 

“Oh push off! This our dig site!” A much older man says. Blue eyed and skin almost as white as his hair, face hard with a stupid arrogance.

 

“We got here first!” Regina says and she is snarling. Apparently being outgunned only manages to anger her. It’s really... breathtaking. Emma’s heart is racing for the wrong reasons at the wrong time. Dammit.

 

“As if I’d allow a mutt to chase me out.” The man sneers at Regina.

 

That is really the last thing Emma will let him say. She doesn’t even allow for enough time for Regina to reply because she’s landing a punch square on his nose. He stumbles backwards with a bloody nose, clearly not believing what just happened. Good. It wasn’t Emma’s best idea because she feels a sting on her knuckles and hears guns clicking. Shit.

 

“Children, children. If we’re going to play together we’re going to have to learn how to share,” Regina says as she steps in between her and the American’s guns. Her voice is controlled and steady but Emma just knows, just knows that there must be rage tightening her chest. “There are _other_ places to dig.” And that tells Emma all she needs to know.

 

* * *

  

Henry is embarrassed because he’s almost ten but still feels a funny coldness creeping in his stomach when he remembers how those men con las caras amargas had pointed their guns at them. Two hours later and Henry’s heart hasn’t really slowed down. Lucky they had Emma with them. Even if she had gotten a little carried away. Good thing mom was there.

 

He presses his lips together as he goes over his thoughts. Mom never retreats, not ever. That has always been a constant in Henry’s life. He remembers being four and her hand tight on his when a man on the motor bus wouldn’t let them hop off at Hyde Park Corner. The man’s ugly mustached face had turned whiter and mom had only spoken a word or two. So for her to let the Americans dig at the base of the statue of Anubis back there means she knows something no one else does. Something just as big as the book of Amun-Ra.

 

Emma is standing on a heavy stone table, hitting the ceiling with a metal rod and sweat is dripping down her face. Mom is working next to her, making sure nothing important gets damaged. Auntie Zelena is hitting away at different spot, she doesn’t look too happy when she accidentally swallows a mouthful of cobwebs. Henry is just standing there with the toolkit Emma had given mom, handing them whatever they ask for.

 

“And you’re sure we’re not just hammering away at nothing?” Emma asks mom after a grunt.

 

“Well according to my calculations we should be right under the statue. So yes, Miss Swan, I’m quite sure.” Henry doesn’t know how but he can _hear_ the eyeroll in mom’s voice.

 

“If this thing caves in on us don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Emma replies as she lands one more hit. A piece of debris falls flat on her face. “That’s it. I think it’s time for lunch. What do you say, kid?” She glances at Henry like he’s her partner in crime. Which he definitely is.

 

“I say yes. Mom?” There is no way she will say no when he asks.

 

“I suppose we could eat.” Mom replies and she has this look on her face that usually means that her mind can’t let go of an idea. It’s been awhile since he’d seen it and he’s glad. It means this is all worth it.

 

“You think you can find the compartment at the base of the statue as the Americans sleep?” Auntie Zelena says stealing some of mom’s cheese.

 

Mom slaps her hand away but lets her have it anyway. “Of course I can, let’s just hope those beasts haven’t beaten us to finding the Book.”

 

“What’s up there, then?” Emma asks pointing upwards.

 

“Something important, I would hope.”

 

No one except mom is really up to go back to work just yet. She’s blowing air through her nostrils and drumming her fingers on her crossed arms. Auntie Zelena is trying to nap and he’s sitting with Emma on the sand covered floor.

 

“They’d rip out your tongue and take out your organs and put them in jars,” Henry tells Emma, who is looking like she’s about to be sick. He doesn’t know what she’d been expecting when she asked how mummies were made. “Oh, and do you know how they removed your brain?”

 

“Henry, love, I don’t think we need to hear this.” Auntie Zelena says with her eyes still closed.

 

“They’d stick a red hot poker up your nose, give your brain a good scramble and yank it out your nose!”

 

“Ah, yeah. Don’t put me down for this.” Emma says rubbing the bridge of her nose.

 

“It’s called mummification, dear. You’d be dead when they do this.” Mom has that half smile that tells Henry that she is trying to not enjoy herself. Even if she really is.

 

“Still. I’d rather be kept in one piece.” Emma looks straight at mom, like they’re playing a game. Just the two of them. “What kind of storybooks do you let the kid read? Jesus.”

 

Mom scoffs and comes closer. “My son simply is educated, Miss Swan.” And he knows that she hadn’t meant to come out as hurtful. But Emma looks away from her all the same and her mouth has a twitch to it. Henry is not really sure what that means.  

 

The air is different now, and nobody's saying anything. He doesn’t know what to do with himself or how to make it better, so without really thinking he tosses a rock at the ceiling. And another, and another which means mom will probably tell him to stop in a minute or two. He throws a fourth one and that’s when the it splits open, rubble and dust are everywhere. Henry coughs and rubs his eyes clean. When he can see again, there is a large sarcophagus in the middle of the room.

 

“I did warn you.” Emma eyes are on mom again.

 

* * *

 

 

The sarcophagus is unique, it’s larger than any Regina has ever seen. Feeling the cool black stone on the skin of her palm she suspects it’s made from Granodiorite. Something she cannot name radiates from it, something that dares her to come closer and listen. She is imagining things, Regina tells herself, because she hears a faint whisper by her ear. But then again, cities do not manifest from sunlight and yet here they are. She has never given credence to irrational thoughts; mujer de poca fe is the badge she has always worn. She decides to focus on the physical for now; on the smoothness of the carved hieroglyphs and the coarseness of the sand. Her fingers stop short when she feels the stone turn rough. Regina studies the carvings with her brow furrowing; parts of the scripture have been deliberately chipped away.

 

“What is it?” Miss Swan asks with an odd concern in her voice.

 

“I believe their name has been chiselled off.”

 

“Does that mean anything?” Zelena asks.

 

“The Ancients placed a lot of value in names,” Regina knows that once a name is taken from a person they are reduced to a shadow, a thing that lurks in the minds of others. Something to be filled by the demons of men, something incomplete. “Erasing a name was to deny someone their existence.”

 

“Someone wanted to take their power away from them.” Miss Swan says lowly. Her green eyes intent in catching Regina’s own.

 

She couldn’t have distilled her thoughts any better herself. Regina gives her an appreciative nod because of the way she had made her turn quiet before. Miss Swan rewards her with a sheepish smile.

 

“So...can we open it?” Henry says his voice high with excitement. The sarcophagus makes him look smaller than he is, and that does something to the strings of her heart.

 

Regina brushes the thick layer of scum away from its middle and finds a star-shaped dent. “I don’t know, hijo. It seems to be...” She is perplexed to say the least. “...locked.”

 

“Whoever was in here was sure never getting out.” Zelena’s tone is uncharacteristically serious.

 

Miss Swan examines the lock and traces the space where the two halves of the sarcophagus meet. “No kidding. It would take a month to crack this thing without a key.”

 

Something falls into place in Regina’s mind when she hears her words. “A key, a key. That’s what we need.” She says urgently like a rushed recitation.  “The man, the man on the boat wanted a key.” She searches Zelena for their star-shaped puzzle box.

 

“Hey, watch it!” She says when Regina removes it from under her blouse.

 

She clicks it open and places it on top of the lock. If her smile is self-congratulatory Regina doesn’t much care. “There. A key.”

 

There is a strangeness to way the lock clicks, it feels like for each turn it takes something unlocks within her. It is not just the atmosphere of this city of the dead, it’s a distinct pull. Inevitable like gravity, like death. Miss Swan had told her that evil lived here and perhaps that’s true.But Regina is not entirely certain because whatever travels the halls of this place is something she recognizes. It’s the way her pulse quickens and all she sees is red when backed into a corner. It’s every wound she has suffered and inflicted. She takes a deep breath as she lifts her hand off the key.

 

“Are you ready for this?” Miss Swan asks too softly to be unpreoccupied.

 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Regina straightens her shoulders as she replies.

 

“Just making sure.” She says quietly as she shrugs. “You two push and Zelena and I pull.”

 

The lid is heavy as expected and it takes them three false starts to finally open the sarcophagus. There is a pressurized sound and dust comes shooting out of it. Henry stumbles backwards and Zelena yelps. The body had practically jumped out at them. Regina looks over at Miss Swan who has her hands on her knees.

 

“Are those things supposed to look like that?” She asks, her voice trembling.

 

Regina turns her eyes to the mummy and it is the single strangest thing she has come across. There are no wrappings, no signs of well performed embalming. It’s completely naked in its torn flesh. It’s jaw is unhinged to the side, its eye sockets are hollow. They were buried vindictively.

 

“No, they’re not,” She comes face to face with it.“It must be over three thousand years old and yet it looks like it’s still decomposing. It looks like it’s still…”

 

“Juicy.” Henry and Zelena add with identical tones of disgust.

 

“Christ.” Miss Swan says and she is positively pale.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

“Just…” She breathes in and out, struggling to keep her lunch down. “Give me a second. Yeah...damn. I’m fine. Or I will be.” She crouches down to inspect the lid as to avoid looking at the body for much longer. “Are these…?” She looks up at Regina questioningly.

 

She joins her on the floor and immediately sees what she means. “Scratch marks. Yes, I believe they are. This person was buried alive.” Regina searches for any protective spells that they may have been carved and finds them in the same state as their name. “All the sacred spells are gone.”

 

“That’s bad, right?” Miss Swan asks

 

“Really bad.” Henry replies for her.

 

“Who do you think they were?” Zelena asks her.

 

“For them to be buried at the feet of Anubis they must have been someone of great importance.” She meets her sister’s eye. “Or they must have done something absolutely horrifying”  

 

There is no explanation as to why Regina stays behind with the mummy. She urges the rest to leave and to rest while she remains underground with it. It would be comforting to believe that it is a purely intellectual exercise, a scholarly enterprise. She is very much aware that it is not. It’s this place, it’s like a hazy wine induced dream; one from which she should awaken. It’s not something that can easily be understood unless it’s felt moving under one’s own skin, it’s a self-destructive compulsion. The kind she got as a child when she had to find a way to deal with the way her mother’s nails dug into her skin at parties and her rod struck her body at home. It’s the way Regina would force her wrists to bruise because her anger wanted to bleed out of her but she couldn’t afford scars on her skin. She takes three deep breaths and with a hand on her chest counts her heart beats to snap herself out this mood. The material, she needs to focus on the material rather than the immaterial. There are scarab skeletons lying in the sarcophagus; a mockery directed at the occupier. Another look at the body reveals it to be missing a heart. These things all add up to paraphrased words in her lost notes and her mind begins reeling once more. Regina feels like she is finally allowed to leave this chamber.

 

Walking back to their camp she spots Albert Spencer, el hijo de su madre who had claimed the second statue of Anubis for himself and who occasionally deals with Gold at the museum, wrestling to open a chest. It is black, it cannot be the chest containing the Book of Amun-Ra, a star-shaped lock keeps it shut. Regina smirks at the separate realizations. Two other buffoons are tossing what appear to be a sacred jar to one another. One wonders if the other thinks it’ll fetch a pretty penny back home; they have to be the worst sort of cretin on the planet.

There is a fire burning at the camp when she arrives. Its warm orange is  already contrasting with the deep purple that is blooming in the horizon. It is only now that Regina realizes that she must have been gone for longer than she thought.

 

“We’re getting supper started.” Henry tells her from his spot on the ground.

 

“Should I be concerned?”

 

“Probably.” Zelena replies tossing meat onto a skillet.

 

She takes her place by the fire; Miss Swan just inches away from her.

 

“Everything alright?” She asks Regina lowly like she doesn’t want anyone else to be privy to her answer.

 

“Yes, fine.” Regina smooths down her qaftan and fixes her hair. Miss Swan’s gaze tells her that she has picked up on the lie. “I’ve discovered something about our friend.” She continues before the other woman can press her.

 

“Really? What?” Henry asks and his wonder brings a smile to her face.

 

“I found these in the sarcophagus.” Regina says as she hands him a skeleton. “Know what they are?”

 

“Scarabs?” He lifts it up for Zelena to see.

 

“Please keep any and all bugs away from me.” She says squirming.

 

“Flesh eating scarabs. They must have eaten our friend very slowly.”

 

“This keeps getting better and better.”Miss Swan pinches her eyes shut.

 

“From what I can gather they were the victim of Hom-Dai. The worst of all curses, reserved for only the most evil of blasphemers.” Regina says ignoring her.

 

“How bad was it?” Henry asks rolling the scarab between his fingers.

 

“They never used it because they feared it so.” She pauses to choose the proper words for her son. “Whoever was cursed could never fully be dead or alive because their heart was taken and destroyed. And if the curse was ever broken, then they would rise with all the wrath of Egypt.”

 

“Wrath of Egypt? What’s that supposed to mean?” Miss Swan says popping a date into her mouth.

 

“Scholars are too vague in their translations. It could be anything.” Regina takes a sip of water from the canteen lying between Henry’s feet.

 

“Sounds like loads of fun.” Zelena says heavy with sarcasm.

 

Sudden like thunder there is gunfire and shouts coming from the middle of the city.

 

“Stay here! ” Miss Swan orders as she releases one of her guns from its holster and runs down from their camp.

 

As she tells Henry to hide under all the blankets, Regina already knows that is yet another order they will be unwilling to follow.

 

* * *

 

Maryam has always understood that is not just treasure that attracts people to this place. It’s the call of the dark, she knows. It’s something she and her people have always wrestled with. They have killed innocent and not so innocent men for this. Her whole life has been about watching, and waiting with a blade on her back and a horse between her legs. The only way she can keep going is repeating her mother’s words, that a little blood keeps the world from dying. They attack the city once again, and already her people are falling off their horses and taking lives they will cry over later. Maryam yearns for the day this finally stops.

 

She is thrown off her horse and as she rises she spots a familiar face. The woman with the yellow hair, the one that looked like a beacon from afar. The one whose life she thought the Sahara would take. She stands in the middle of her riders and foreign men, holding a stick a stick of dynamite with its wick aflame. There is a young boy watching from behind a pillar, terrified and dark haired woman protecting him. She is yelling at the other woman to stop. This cannot continue.

 

“ _Enough! We will shed no more blood.”_ Maryam looks at the dark haired woman because she knows she can understand. “ _You must leave this place or die.”_ Her heart drops when she spies the way the boy closes his eyes. He understands too well for his own sake. She wants to say she’s sorry and that he is safe, but knows full well the words will never leave her mouth.

 

Maryam turns to other woman, who is still holding death in her hand. “You have until dusk tomorrow. We will be watching.”

 

“ _Let’s go!”_ Maryam commands as she settles back on her horse and leads the way.

* * *

 

The night is quiet now, silent and different shades of purple and black. She is watching the wood slowly be consumed by the flames. That is the only sound Regina can hear, the crackling of the flames. Henry is asleep and curled up next to her. She had run her fingers through his curls because she knows her boy is growing up and doesn’t like being asked if he wants his hand held when he’s scared. But her soothing hand, that he accepts without question. Zelena is equally as unconscious, her arm wrapped around a half empty bottle of bourbon she swiped from the Americans. Her expression is too serene for the violence she just witnessed and Regina wonders not for the first time what kind of life she leads away from hers. Sand and blood, that’s what Miss Swan kept repeating to her and she had remained skeptical until the very end. She is sitting opposite her without saying a word, hair loose and eyes fixed on her black boots. There are too many things unsaid and the air is charged with it. Miss Swan breathes out and gets to her feet to rummage through a basket. She plops herself down next to Regina, canteen in hand and offers it to her. There should be hesitation, she should decline like her manners dictate instead Regina takes a swig from it.

 

“That’s really sweet.” Regina says licking her lips.

 

“It’s what they had at the village. Sweet beer. Does the job quickly and without a burn.” She replies taking the canteen back from her. “I’m sorry, for what’s worth. About the shootout tonight. Everything, really.”

 

“It’s not your fault. You did warn me, I just didn’t listen.” Her voice grows quiet.

 

“I could’ve run, not brought you here. Gotten out of prison and just left.” Miss Swan looks at her and her eyes are shining. “It’s not like I’m not good at running.”

 

“Head first into danger, it seems.” Regina can still see her standing there, threatening to blow herself to hell. “What were you thinking down there?”

 

“I don’t think I was.” She admits. “ Well...It’s not like you didn’t stand between me and around six armed men today.”

 

“That was different.” Regina says with a huff and taking another drink.

 

“Yeah, how?” Her tone isn’t accusatory but not any less challenging.

 

Regina opens her mouth only to close it.

 

“Exactly.” A bit too victorious she spills some beer on her left hand and winces. She brings up to her mouth to suck on the cut.

 

“Did your little stunt actually manage to hurt you?”

 

“No, this is from when I punched that jerk Egyptologist in the morning.” Her tone tells Regina that she doesn’t think anything of it. As if it’s her second nature of hers.

 

“Idiot. Let me see it.” Regina hisses and takes her hand away from her mouth.

 

It’s not too bad, but it will leave a scar. Judging by the state of her knuckles she had managed to break the bastard’s nose. Regina tries not to be too pleased about it. When she lifts her gaze, she finds Miss Swan looking at her with her lips parted and eyes uncertain.

 

“It wasn’t the first time, was it?” Her voice is soft with a kind of compassion that has been learned despite the odds.

 

Regina doesn’t need to ask what she means. It’s the reason she had split her skin punching Spencer.

 

“No, it wasn’t. But you knew that.” Regina shakes her head and lets out a breathy laugh.

 

“What is it?”

 

“I was just remembering what my father told me when I first heard the word ‘mutt’.” She won’t say that it come out of the mouth of her mother’s mother when the hair by Regina’s temples became too unruly and dark for her taste. “He said that mutt just means that we’re stronger. More resilient.”  

 

“Good man.” Her smile is small but it’s more than enough.

 

“Yes, he was.” Regina still remembers his exacts words, however saccharine and sanitized they sound now. _“_ How many histories don’t swim in our blood? Hija, you are that Taino with the glowing skin walking on white shores, an Egyptian Queen looking at las estrellas en el cielo with kohl lining her eyes. A Spaniard fresh from the dungeon with the salt of the Atlantic in their hair. No, no mi vida. Que no te de verguenza.”

 

“Why did you want to come here anyway?” Miss Swan turns her hand, inviting Regina to inspect her palm for injuries too. She sees it for what it really is and takes it. Her fingertips travel from the roughness of her palm to the Wedjat tattooed onto her skin.

 

“Miss Swan..I”

 

“Emma. I think I’ve earned that right.” She says with tilting her head as she looks at her.

 

“Fine. Emma.” Regina sighs heavily before continuing. “I..Honestly, at first I thought this would be stepping stone towards something I should do. To where I should go.”

 

She considers Bembridge College and its cricket field and books that smell of moss.Black robes and tweed. It all suddenly seems wrong. So unlike the person she is and more like the person she thought she ought to be.

 

“And now? Where do you want to go? ”

 

“I don’t know.” She says aware that traces of embarrassment and doubt have leaked onto her voice.  

 

“I don’t think it’s something you need to know right now. You’ll figure it out.” This time the smile reaches her eyes and it’s not something from which she can look away.

 

Regina doesn’t think she has ever seen such gentleness surrounded by such rough edges like hers. All her life she had only known silk and satin encasing the deadly edge of a knife. Un puñal de seda y perlas **.** One she could feel every time mother put her arms around her. Emma’s grin turns too radiant for the dark of the night and Regina’s pulse travels all over her body. Then she feels the way the beer has made body soft and the way her eyes are growing heavier. Emma’s hair moves against her shoulder and Regina is suddenly aware of how close they are. Her fingertips are still tracing the lines of Emma’s hand and perhaps Regina should say something. A word or two out of the many that are hanging over them.

 

“Emma…”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“We should get some sleep.” Emma locks their fingers together for a second before leaving her side.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank you guys so much, I'm like over the moon you're liking this story so far! Just..yeah wow. 
> 
> There's some things I want to point out:  
> 1-Regina was lying to the warden in the first chapter when she promised him a cut of their profit. 
> 
> 2- Thutmose III tried to completely erase Hatsheput's reign by chiseling off her name and destroying depictions of her.  
> That's the inspiration behind this. I hope she kicked her nephew in the groin when he got to the afterlife. 
> 
> 3-Henry Sr. was romanticizing colonialism for his daughter. Colonialism is fucking terrible and we all continue to suffer its consequences (colorism, racism, classicism, hierarchical churches, misogyny, homophobia). It can really mess with your sense of identity if you're from a largely mestizo population and you're being told to both embrace and reject colonial legacy. And Latin America basically served as a sort of dumping ground for prisoners at one point. Our history is very painful and complicated. So there's that. 
> 
> 4-The sweet beer is a reference to the festival of Sekhmet, Bast, and Hathor were people got drunk off their asses as part of their worship. The Ancients knew what's what. 
> 
> 5-The curse doesn't involve the plagues of Egypt in this story. It's theologically messy (why would an Egyptian curse involve the manifestation of the powers of the Hebrew God?? Makes no sense.) and the movie just plucked things from Judaism while managing to be anti-Semitic. It was gross and lazy writing.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentions of blood and violence.

She hadn’t meant to drift off to sleep, but her legs had felt heavy, her lips sweet and her hand pulsated with something more than split skin. No, Emma had meant to stay vigilant as everyone else slept. The only way she knows her plan failed is because a gentle rustling makes her chest rise unsteadily and her eyes snap open. Emma’s breathing becomes even and her grip on the shotgun loosens when she recognizes it’s Regina moving away from the fire and down to the city, towards the Americans’ camp. She watches the sky waiting for her to return; there is a shade of purple darkness and silver stars that Emma doesn’t think she has ever seen. She wonders for a second if it has anything to do with Regina. Maybe it’s the beer making her see all this. Emma knows it isn’t.

 

Regina returns so quietly that Emma’s bites the inside of her cheek because only someone who’s had to make herself small to survive moves that way. She should know. Regina’s eyes are dark with satisfaction and her lips parted in anticipation, it’s then she notices the black chest in her hands. No doubt taken literally from under the jerk Egyptologist’s broken nose.

 

“That’s called stealing, you know.” Emma says with sleep still heavy in her voice.

 

“Well, according to you and my sister it’s called borrowing.” Regina is not even slightly surprised that Emma is awake and watching her. “Besides, this doesn’t belong to him. It can’t really be called stealing.”  

 

“I thought the chest of the Book of Amun-Ru was supposed to be golden.” She asks crawling over to Regina’s side.

 

“This isn’t the chest of the Book of Amun-Ra. This is something else.” She carefully traces its edges and carvings like she’s trying to memorize all its details.

 

It’s a small black chest with a winged scarab carved on its lid and a star-shaped lock at its front. It looks like something that could be forgotten or cast aside. Like something a rich lady would buy at a bazaar and would use as a letterbox.One where she would keep all the correspondence from her travels and trinkets she picked up along the way. After a year or so it would gather dust and be forgotten in an attic somewhere.

 

Regina steals the puzzle box from Zelena’s clothes without a second thought and pops it open. And there it is again, that look of no hesitation. That look that should be frightening and intimidating. Click, click, click and the chest is open. Emma braces herself for another half-decomposed surprise but reasons that they probably didn’t make mummies that small. Regina removes the lid with delicate fingers and she looks like a kid stealing from a candy jar. Her eyes are wide and she can’t help her grin; it’s clear where Henry gets it. Emma picks up on the barely there gasp when she unrolls a scroll on her crossed legs.

 

“So what is it?” She asks quietly knowing that maybe Regina is caught in the haze of her discovery.

 

“It’s the Book of the Dead.” Regina replies her fingertips gentle on the material. “It’s a religious text.”She clarifies.

 

“Like the Bible?”

 

“Not exactly. It’s more like prayers for the gods and a guide to the afterlife.” She furrows her brow and bites down on her lip.

 

Emma studies the scroll herself. It’s all black and red ink on a pale papyrus, she has no idea what any of it means but she can appreciate that this is a colossal moment. She knows because those moments tend to look small and ordinary. Because her world has suddenly been reduced to the way Regina silently mouths words and her idiot racing heart, Emma is sure this is the biggest moment of her damn life.

 

“This is one is different.” There is something in her tone that Emma can’t read.

 

“How?” Emma turns to look at her and knows her eyes are asking Regina to share, if she’s willing.

 

Regina sighs lightly like she’s trying to organize her thoughts. “See that there?” She points at one particular inscription.

 

Emma nods and not minding one bit how she can still smell the sweet beer on Regina.

 

“It reads, ‘I am the morning light, I too am the Sun who rises. It is my hand that rises from the waters and creates all.’” Her voice is low but oddly filled with the authority of someone declaring ownership over something.

 

“Uhh..yeah. Pretend for a second that I’m completely lost?” Emma half smiles as she rubs the back of her neck.

 

“Yes, alright.” Regina shakes her head lightly, as she had forgotten herself. Like she is trying to show more patience than she usually has. Emma wants to ask her if this is something she does for everyone or if it’s just for her. “Whoever wrote this was making themselves a god. Only Pharaohs were allowed to do that. Anyone else would be a blasphemer.”

 

“So our juicy friend down there…?”

 

“ Really did commit a religious crime. They wouldn’t put a King under a curse like the Hom-Dai.” Her finger moves to another section. “Now this? Usually there would be a praise for the Lord of the Dead but this is asking for resu…”

 

“Mom?” Henry says, his voice small and a little lost. He sounds like he is working hard to keep panic away from it.  

 

“We’re over here, sweetheart.” The warmth in those words does something to Emma, it makes her chest hurt with emptiness. But maybe, she thinks gazing at Regina, those empty spaces between her ribs could be filled.

 

He drags his feet and sand with them along with his blanket. His eyes are only half open, and maybe this is the way he looked when he woke up from a nightmare and wanted his mother. He drops down between them and his head instinctively lies on Regina’s shoulder and his eyes close. Emma remembers the angry shouts, the sounds of blades on stone and flesh, the rain of bullets and a wick burning in her hand. How could he not wake up frightened and confused? Wanting to feel safe and protected. Regina doesn’t ask anything, she already knows what’s wrong. All she does is press her lips to his hair and there it goes, that thing in Emma’s chest between hope and emptiness. Fuck.

 

“What are you two doing up?” He mumbles.

 

“Your mom was just reading some stuff for me.” Emma answers and it sounds dumb coming out of her mouth.

 

“Mhmm. Mom’s good at that.” He yawns and pulls the blanket around his shoulders. “Will you keep going?”

 

“If Emma doesn’t mind.” Regina answers her voice low and Emma feels her neck growing hotter when she hears her name. She’s not used to this type of consideration, she had always been the girl in the corner keeping her head down. Telling herself she didn’t want to be thought of or included. She was more than fine on her own, with her hands clutching her grey skirts. But this? It’s something that she could hold onto forever and she hadn’t known it existed a second ago.

 

“Hey no harm ever came from reading a book, right?” She shrugs her shoulders and presses her lips together not fully understanding what she’s doing. Regina throws her a half confused and half exasperated look. “I..I don’t mind. Of course I don’t.”

 

Regina clears her throat and Emma can tell this is part of their routine, done over a hundred times. “Life springs up from my destruction. I have…” The softness she keeps locked inside flows effortlessly into the desert air.

 

“Can you say it in Egyptian?” He’s close to being able to find sleep again but not just yet.

 

“Yes, I can.” Regina smiles and it is shamelessly smug. Like she can’t decide if she’s more pleased with her son or herself. Emma only shakes her head in amused disbelief. “Au am-nef saa en neter neb ahau pa neheh t-er-f.” Each word is said with such care, full lips moving slowly and decidedly.

 

Maybe it’s a trick of the moonlight but Emma thinks that Regina’s eyes turn a dark purple just as the wind blows through her hair, almost like it recognizes her. It’s just this place, Emma tells herself. It’s this damn city and that that permanent chill down her spine. Nothing more.

 

“Pa t’etta em sah-fpen en merer-f-ari mest-et-f. An-ari-nef. Anx anx mit-k.” Regina continues and her voice sounds distant, like she’s caught in a trance.

 

Emma suddenly wants to shake her and snatch the scroll from her hands. Maybe toss into the fire, but it’s already too late. Whatever gentle breeze had been blowing before has turned into a sand storm that is getting stronger and meaner. She has to be losing her mind because she hears an inhuman screech of pain coming from beneath the ruins.

 

“What the hell is going on?!” Zelena shouts over the howling wind.

 

“Just get inside!” Emma replies.

 

It’s unbelievable but through the sand she actually sees Regina putting the scroll back into the chest and tuck it under her arm just as she pulls Henry to his feet. It’s like she bound to it, Emma thinks with an unsettling feeling at the pit of her stomach.

 

Calling this a shitstorm won’t begin to cover it.

 

* * *

 

She has been in these primordial waters for so long, thousands of years. Her chest has been open and hollow and through all this time she has fooled herself into believing that her heart still beat with its same ferocity. But it had only been the waves hitting her ears. Not her heart, never her missing heart.There are no gods here; if she had met them the Queen would have devoured them like a great Pharaoh before her. Here, at the feet of Anubis she just floats through time with her anger growing brighter and hotter. When she awakens the Queen will be fire, sand, and blood. Not even a flood of beer from Ra himself would be able to stop her from her carnage. How powerful hate grows within her, spreads through her body in this place with no light. The throne of Egypt will be hers, and the soul of her beloved will be returned to their body. They will look over the Nile together, in a room with alabaster walls and then it won’t matter if the gods regard them with fair eyes.

 

These are the thoughts that sustain her in this wet nothingness, in this tide that goes nowhere. She wonders if this what the creators felt, this horrible emptiness, this maddening silence and that is why the egg that laid Ra came to be. Because there needed to be sound and chaos in this world. Strange how life and death resemble each other, how both are equally infuriating. The Queen would pray if she could, but the curse has taken that away from her. The curse priests had crafted so carefully with only the help of the gods, tall and powerful with their jackal and falcon heads. Sons of the Lord of the Dead, of Osiris, who had answered her prayers when it had been too late. He would not hear her now. She could pray to the Mother, to Vengeance, to Justice. But there are not here. No one but the Queen lies here.

 

There is a whisper now, words swift. Sentences she recognizes, that the Queen wrote herself in black and red ink. “I have eaten the knowledge of god every, my existence is for all eternity and to everlasting in my sah this; what I will I do, what I hate not do I do. Live life, I shall not die.”

 

The voice is like the wind that had run through her dark hair in Thebes, it’s strong and sure of itself. The Queen latches on to it because she recognizes it as her life-line, the breaker of the curse. She feels Mother Isis’s magic flood her body, through the emptiness of her chest and the crevices of her skin and bones. It’s violet and powerful, she would call it righteous were it not for Sehkmet’s roar caught in her throat. For the first time in thousands of years there is something else beside the waves in her ears. It’s a tortured scream of agony, and the Queen despairs to find that it’s her own. She is aware she is a physical thing now, she knows because cool stone surrounds what is left of her body. The flesh that had once bathed in the Nile and been perfumed with myrrh and jasmine is torn to shreds. That same subhuman shriek keeps emerging from her throat and she finds herself speechless. Blind, and speechless in this world that is much older now than she ever was. Sound is all the Queen has in this world.

 

She leaves the sarcophagus that held her prisoner with the sound of a heart beat loud in her ears. The Queen makes her way towards it; it’s desperate and frightened. It belongs to someone who has been left behind, abandoned by those he trusted the most. It doesn’t want to be afraid, but it cannot help it. It’s too feeble, its threads too thin to be of any of use to her. That heart, that man’s heart, is not like her own. It pulsates with dread of life, it has never known loss and hatred, no, no. That heart belongs to an easy life, it is not one she wants. It is not one she needs to complete herself, to close and heal her chest. To stand tall and rise to be the Sun. Useless as his heart may be, there is a compulsion to take from him. To hurt him, to take sight and speech from him. She is only fulfilling the curse to which she is still a slave, bound to consume those who had desecrated her sacred jars. But the Queen knows even without the binding words of the curse she would still rip his throat out.

 

His eyes feel too big, too slow inside her skull and his tongue tastes of something she cannot place. They are foreign and disgusting, an abomination as she is now.  Soon she will be whole again, when the curse is fulfilled and no more men are to be consumed, then her true body will be returned to her. These monstrosities will suffice until then. Before she can take his life another heartbeat reaches her ears. It’s pathetic and weaker than the previous one, but it wants to survive at any cost. It will lie, it will beg, it make itself a thousand times over to get what it wants. The Queen has a purpose for a heart such as his, it would make a fine servant. She turns to look at him and his skin is that white she had only heard belonged to the Hykso usurpers. His green eyes are petrified in fear of her figure, his lips tremble and his one hand reaches for an amulet that resembles an ankh. It cannot help him and when the realization washes over his cowardly body, he bows down in front of her. Fear is their shared language.  The Queen kicks sand in his face and he understands that it is time for him to leave until she calls for him.

 

Then there is another heart approaching, its pulse racing and bouncing off the dark stone walls of the city. The Queen smiles, these beats she knows well. They used to thump under her bones, under her skin; proudly and fiercely. This is the heart that she will take for herself.

 

* * *

 

 

There is something different about the way her blood is flowing now, or perhaps not entirely. Regina had felt it boil many times throughout her life, more than she could count but never like this. It’s almost like it’s fire coursing through her veins, like it’s fire that sustains her, that carries her feet down into the ruins and away from the sand. The black chest is tucked under her arm, safe and hers. She is suddenly possessive of it, it had come to be hers when her voice had gotten away from her and something dark had come upon her eyes. A violet veil of strength, of power. Something so unlike anything she had ever felt. Her heart is threatening to burst out of her chest, as if something is calling for it. It aches, it’s like she is being punished for wanting to keep for herself. This morning Regina could have attributed all this, the fire in her veins and bloody heart, to her mind. Not now, this is no trick her thoughts are pulling on her. This is as real as Henry’s hand in hers as they walk the passageways inside the city.

 

“Mom. Mom!” Henry tugs at her hand and she sees his narrowed eyes looking at her.

 

“What?” Her voice isn’t as gentle as she would have liked.

 

“I’ve been trying to...you wouldn’t listen.” He says his voice dropping. “It’s like you couldn’t hear us at all.”

 

“I..” It’s true she realizes, at no point had Regina registered anyone’s voice. “I’m sorry. The storm must have thrown me off.”

 

Regina turns to look at Emma and Zelena, both breathing heavily against a wall. Zelena has a hand to her chest and Emma is clutching a shotgun, eyes digging into her own. It’s the lie she sees, like she knows about the fire and deep purple in her.

 

“Let’s keep going. This hallway is giving me the creeps.” Is all Emma says. Regina suspects she is waiting for her to uncover everything she is hiding. Sooner or later, she suspects, Emma will press her about it.

 

“That would be an understatement.” Zelena replies pushing herself off the wall

 

Emma leads the way and though her steps are firm on the ground, Regina can see the small hairs of her neck sticking up. Her shoulders are tense and she may be losing her mind, because she can almost hear the beats of heart. She must be, because with a shake of her head the sound that had been there before is gone.

 

“We should settle down somewhere.” Regina volunteers after a while. She won’t admit it, but her feet are starting to drag and her whole body is sore from the day. And there is also the unmentionable pain in her chest and that feverish feel to the underside of her skin. It feels that for every step she takes inside these ruins her heart expands more and more, like it’s about to explode.

 

“Not the room with the mummy. Please” Emma replies tentatively, as if Regina would deny the request.

 

A strange sound begins echoing through the place, like a thousand miniscule feet marching towards them. Shouts that began in the distance are getting closer and closer. The Americans rush past them, guns and torches in hand.

 

“RUN, GODDAMMIT, RUN!” The blond one yells without even bother to look back on them.

 

Without a second thought they pick up the pace, Henry’s hand has slipped away from her grasp and Regina will not even try to get it back. He is faster than her, running up ahead with Emma. The sound is just getting louder and she doesn’t want to find out what is making it. They manage to run as far into a room where a large slab of stone bridges a gap, with raised platforms on either side cut off from the bridge itself. They didn’t need to wonder any longer about the source of the sound, now almost petrifying. Scarabs, hundreds of flesh eating scarabs are coming from both sides. There is really no choice but to leap onto the platforms to stay safe. Emma pulls Henry with her, and Zelena joins them, almost green with panic. Regina jumps onto the platform opposite them and watches both groups of scarabs meet and then continue their way upward.

 

Regina is breathing out of her mouth as she keeps her eyes on the three of them, all panting. Henry hugging Emma’s waist, Zelena with her widened eyes, and Emma with her free hand on Henry’s back. She gives Regina a nod that tells her everyone is fine. All safe and in one piece. Regina sucks in a breathe of relief and throws herself against the solid rock; what she believed to be solid rock and not a trap door. As soon as her weight is pressed against it the wall caves in and she falls backwards.

 

“Regina!”

 

“Mom!”

 

If this had been any other night Regina would have said that she had landed flat on her behind, but tonight she had landed flat on her ass. She dusts herself off and tries to figure out what this room is. It’s darker than rest of them, with only an orifice high up in the wall filtering the moonlight in. The horrible and explosive feeling in her chest just grows stronger as she stands under the moonlight, and Regina needs to fight the urge to try and hit her heart into submission. If she could only plunge her hand into her chest and make it stop. She hears whimpering coming from the opposite of the room, Regina tries to steady herself as she heads towards it. It’s one of the Americans, standing alone under the moonlight. She doesn’t even know his name, but his presence brings some relief. He whimpers again and Regina places her hand on his shoulder and he turns around. She cannot help gasping as she takes several steps back. It’s the most fearsome sight, where his eyes should be there are bloody and hollow sockets. His mouth hangs open, spit and blood cover his chin. His tongue is missing which makes his whimpers and moans sound thick and clumsy.

 

“Elp ‘e” He says walking towards her.

 

Regina can only keep retreating until she hits a wall. It’s like she had wandered straight into a nightmare, one that not even the darkest recesses of her mind could have conjured up. A growl comes from the darkness and she watches the American stumble backwards, and scramble away in fear. Like a small animal would when its predator is nearby, like it could be devoured at any moment.

 

It’s not real, it can’t be. It’s impossible. She has gone insane, or she has died and gone to hell like every priest had promised. Because what stands before her is clearly a hellish apparition, one that is squeezing away at her heart by its mere presence. It’s the mummy, the one that had lied stiff in its stone sarcophagus. Its flesh is torn, its organs removed, its heart missing. Yet here it is, walking towards her. Looking at her with blue eyes, and growls coming up its ripped throat. Regina should scream with all the air her lungs hold, scream because she is afraid. Scream because she fears she isn’t frightened enough. Its half rotten body inches forward, almost like it’s enjoying itself. Regina closes her eyes, somehow hoping that it would just go away if she cannot see it. In the mere seconds of darkness she affords herself, she sees flashes of a bloodied sword and a snake slipping away from the body of a King. Her eyes fly open, not wanting to see more, and discovers that the mummy is standing a few feet away from her. Watching, seemingly pleased with what Regina has seen. Vaya a la mierda todo.

 

“ **My Queen.”** Regina understands it, she has to be hallucinating. It could not have spoken and called her queen. The beats of her heart get wilder and wilder and she thinks she will faint from the pain. Sweat is rolling down her temples, she might die. No, she _will_ die. “ **How mighty your heart roars.** ”

 

“Regina, now is really not a good time to be playing hide and seek!” Emma exclaims as she rushes to her side from God knows where. She grabs her hand and tries to pull her away, but Regina keeps her place and doesn’t say a word. “What are you..?”

 

Then Emma follows Regina’s line of sight and sees it. _Sees it._

 

“Woah! What the fuck?!” Her grips on her hand tightens. At least now Regina knows it’s not her sanity that she has lost.

 

The mummy snarls at her like she has interrupted her hunt, like Emma has robbed her of her prize and prey.

 

She lets go of Regina’s hand and on instinct shoots it with a heavy bullet, and reloads to repeat. It looks like it has been thrown off its course, maybe like it won’t even recover.

 

“Come on, let’s go! Go, go!” Emma return her hand to hers and pulls her with her as she runs. Regina knows Emma  is afraid that if she weren’t so insistent she would stay behind with it. She knows this because she fears the same thing.

 

* * *

 

Auntie Zelena’s grip is hard on his shoulder. He gets it. She’s scared just like he is. She and Emma had smashed themselves against the wall that swallowed mom to no use. He looked for a hidden button or lever but found none.It just wouldn’t open like it did before. Emma had grabbed her shotgun and said she was going to find mom. She’d told them to go back outside if the storm had passed; Emma didn’t know why but she thought it was safer out there.

 

Out here the wind is not howling and the sand isn’t scratching at his eyes anymore. Henry has never wished harder for the Sun to rise. Not even when he had scared himself silly reading about an evil bloodsucking count and pulled the covers up to his neck. “It’s just a story, mi vida. It’s not real”, it’s what mom had said back then opening his wooden shutters and letting the light in. Yeah, the Sun will rise. No need to be this afraid.

 

“Emma and mom will be back soon.” He says and he has never been so sure of anything.

 

“Of course, pet. No need to worry.” She replies all light-hearted but it sounds like a lie and it makes Henry scrunch up his nose.

 

He’s about to protest and say that he isn’t little anymore but then he hears a horse kick and notices several of them standing about the city. All black and big, same horses that carried the riders that attacked before. His heart starts to race and that funny coldness in his stomach creeps back in. It’s just him and Auntie Zelena this time and it isn’t enough. Why aren’t mom and Emma back yet?

 

“ _Little Yahya help me with him!”_ Someone coming out from the ruins says. It sounds like she’s dragging someone. Someone in a lot of pain.

 

“ _What happened to him, Maryam?”_ The man speaking is the biggest and broadest Henry has ever seen.

 

_“The creature, what else?!”_

 

_“God have mercy on our souls.”_

 

Henry watches them set an American on the ground, he sounds like he’s trying to cry but can’t. She tears a piece of cloth from her garments and cleans his chin and face. And surely, she can’t be bad. No one who does that can be bad. There’s another rip and she bandages his eyes.

 

“You’re going to be fine, friend.” She tells the American. No, this person is good. Maryam is good.

 

The other Americans come rushing out of the ruins with their guns and he shouldn’t hide behind Auntie Zelena, but he does. She just watches, like she’s already thinking of a quick exit.

 

“What have you done to him you bastards?!” The blond one yells at them.

 

“We saved him! Took him before the creature could finish its job!” Maryam gets up and looks him straight in the eye. “I cannot imagine what type of men you are leaving a brother behind.”

 

“The creature? What in the hell are you talking about?”

 

Before she can answer, Emma and mom come running out the ruins. Mom is still holding onto that black chest and Emma to her shotgun. Mom’s hand is in hers, and they’re both out of breath.

 

“ _You awakened it!”_ She looks right at mom when she says this. And mom...just. If mom ever got sick, which she never does, she would look like this. Pale and with hair sticking to her sweaty forehead. Looking like she’s about to pass out. She can’t even speak. “The creature my people have died for thousands of years to keep from rising!”

 

“Hey! I got it. Shot it twice and saw it fall over.” Emma says letting go of mom and stepping in front of her.

 

Maryam shakes her head, like she can’t believe what Emma just said. “No mortal weapon can kill this creature. It cannot be stopped. It will never eat, it will never sleep. Not even after the curse has been fulfilled.”

 

“Curse?” One brown haired American with a square face asks.

 

“You took its sacred jars, yes?” The man only nods. “Then it will come after everyone who dared touch them. Take your skin, your blood. Your life. There is a target on your backs now.” The man only goes quiet.

 

“ _Is it not dead?”_ Mom asks her and the way she says it worries him. It’s the way she had talked to him down in the city, like she’s not really there.

 

 _“This creature is neither dead or alive. It does not belong in either world.”_ Maryam knows something she isn’t telling them and maybe Henry should ask. He moves to go talk to her but Auntie Zelena holds him back. “Get as far away as you can, please. For all of us.”

 

“I’m telling you. I got it.” Emma says holding up her shotgun like nothing can beat it. But Henry sees it, the way her hand shakes and how she is trying to hide it.

 

The woman almost smiles. “You really are a strong one, friend. Now go!”

 

She and her men get on their horses and set off, with their blades on their back. Just leaving them standing in their dust.

 

Henry runs over to where mom is standing and puts his arms around her waist. “You’re OK?” He asks and feels her dropping to her knees and setting the chest aside.

 

“Si, mi vida. I’m OK.” Except she doesn’t like it. Her eyes are glassy and she is trying really hard to smile for him.

 

The words that had been said moments before suddenly hit him. Creature...curse...blood. And it isn’t just a funny coldness in his stomach now. He flings his arms around mom’s damp neck and buries his face in it. Because this isn’t a story, this is real.

 

The Sun rises.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna be using bold text in dialogue that takes place in Ancient Egyptian. Because that's a thing that's happening now, I guess?
> 
> Little Yahya=Little John. (Because none for Robin Hood. Bye)
> 
> The incantations are actually prayers for Osiris (and his resurrection) from the Book of the Dead, the Papyrus of Ani to be specific about it. They actually translate to: "He hath eaten the knowledge of god every, (his existence) is for all eternity, and to everlasting in his sah this; what he willeth he doeth (what) he hateth, not doth he do, live life, not shalt tho die. " It's analyzed and translated by E.A. Wallis Budge (1895). It has some gross old white scholar language, but it's on PDF if you guys wanna give it read. This was taken from page 50 of that version. Skip Plutarch on Isis and Horus. Plutarch is tacky and I hate him. Sah is kind of like the soul, but something else? It's very undefined, it's like a third thing separate from the body and soul. I also got the Ancient Egyptian creation from this PDF. 
> 
> The Theban version of the Book of Dead was actually written in red and black ink, red for the chapter titles and black for the content. 
> 
> The ankh resembles a cross, but it has a loop at its top. It was the Ancient Egyptian symbol for life. You usually saw depictions of Pharaohs having it one hand and their scepter in another.
> 
> The Hykso people were light skinned people whom the Ancient Egyptians perceived as invaders and usurpers. I'm just gonna give you the wiki: In about 1650 BC, both dynasties were invaded by the Hyksos, who formed the 15th Dynasty. The collapse of the 13th Dynasty created a power vacuum in the south, which may have led to the rise of the 16th Dynasty, based in Thebes, and possibly of a local dynasty in Abydos.[6] The Hyksos eventually conquered both, albeit for only a short time in the case of Thebes. From then on, the 17th Dynasty took control of Thebes and reigned for some time in peaceful coexistence with the Hyksos kings, perhaps as their vassals. Eventually, Seqenenre Tao, Kamose and Ahmose waged war against the Hyksos and expelled Khamudi, their last king, from Egypt c. 1550 BC


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentions of blood and child abuse.

The air in the car is heavy, the river makes Cairo feel thicker. They are all huddled inside, the leather should be smooth on Regina’s skin but it isn’t. The seams are digging into her desert-dried skin, but it’s the least of her problems. Henry and Zelena are in the back with her, neither saying a word. Sometimes they’ll shoot her a look, searching for something in her face. A reassurance that Regina is still wholly there or an affirmation that it has all been a bad dream. She thinks she heard Zelena mumble that maybe they were all drunk somewhere, asleep around a fire. But she had said nothing, pretended it had fallen on deaf ears. Emma is sitting up front with the driver and for that she is grateful. Her eyes had been too serious, had known too much. They had looked at her for almost three days as if she were going to break right before them, into a million tiny shards. Regina had wanted to scream at her, because she is not made of glass. She is not sand made fragile by fire. Maybe Emma’s hand had tried to take hers but as soon as she had felt the brush of her coarse skin she had pulled back. There had been hurt that followed the empathy in her gaze and Regina’s heart had ached in a different way that it had in the City of the Dead, different than when  _ it  _ had stepped onto the moonlight and spoken to her. This was her own doing, yet another self-inflicted wound.  So when Emma had gone to the front of the car,without so much of look to her, Regina had breathed in half-relief. 

 

Now she just stares out the window, away from any green or brown eyes that might prod her. Regina  watches Cairo go past her window, trying to gets its very natural reality flood her senses. The donkey pulled carts, the smell of the market, of palm and dusty rugs, the sweetness of shisha smoke. Shop and stand owners denying that something is for sale, women insisting that it is. Girls that are still young enough to walk the streets with their brothers, boys who hop on and off the trolleybus. The way the light softens when the time for maghrib draws closer.These are all tethers to reality, one that doesn’t seem supernatural. It’s worlds away from what Regina had encountered in the desert, so far removed from that nightmare that now seems so familiar. Like a long forgotten childhood memory, a scar at the back of her neck that she only remembers when her fingers accidentally brush against it. She can’t help but wonder what would have happened if Emma had not taken her away when she did. Perhaps her heart would have burst out of her chest and she would have watched it burn itself to ash. 

 

“ **How mighty your heart roars** ” the words still ring in her mind, like old cathedral bells. It’s incessant and loud in the background of her mind. Regina remembers the blue eyes that had followed with such obvious delight the rise and fall of her chest. She puts a hand over her heart, and it beats steadily enough. The ache in it is almost gone, it’s a whisper of pain. Listen close enough and she would be able to hear it cry for something she doesn’t want to understand. 

 

It has to be far from her, Regina thinks that she would be able to feel it in her chest were the creature near her. No, she  _ knows _ and that is horribly upsetting. What is she or what is she becoming? With this violet swirling around in her blood and eyes. Yes, it’s a good thing Emma is in the front seat away from her. 

 

“ _ This is your street, miss.”  _ The driver says coming to a stop, the black tassel from his fez moving around as he moves to open the door. 

 

The delicately built wooden shutters, the strong door with an iron handle and the whitewashed stone wall that glows gold with the setting sun tell Regina that the driver is not mistaken. They leave the car, each carrying what they can with them. She pays the driver and opens the front door and Henry and Zelena rush in. But Emma stands in the street, bag at her feet unsure if she is wanted. Regina rolls her eyes with a confidence she doesn’t really feel, one that hides well the opposites inside her. The wants and fears. 

 

“Would you just come in?” She doesn’t turn to look at her but through a trick of her ears Regina thinks she can hear Emma’s heart race as she slings her bag over her shoulder. 

 

A gentle breeze is flowing from the interior courtyard and Emma’s steps echo across the tile and stone of the house. The lone tree, the lone apple tree, stands in the middle of the courtyard its leaves swaying with the wind. It had been this particular thing that had set her mind on making this her home. This bright courtyard with the apples, the sunlight, and the well.  Regina hears Yaquta and Granny fussing over Henry, who apologizes between giggles and sighs. Granny chases Zelena away from the oven room. 

 

“Nice place you got here.” Emma says standing next to her, no doubt watching the same scene unfold. 

 

“Yes, I do.” Home. She’s home and yet a purple thread seems to have been woven through her ribs.  

 

 

* * *

 

There are too many sounds rippling through her ears. It’s not the many heartbeats but the other sounds that cut through them. The braying donkeys, the shouts in a language she cannot comprehend. Her one handed servant leads her through the streets of this new and intolerable new world. For her, he had procured a mask and robe, to hide her monstrous and unformed body. Through the blackness of the mask the Queen sees little she recognizes. The men, the women, all dress and move differently than she remembers. Is this the Memphis she once visited as a young girl? The declining city of a lioness, of a craftsman god. If this were Memphis, she would not have to walk these streets, no the Queen would have been carried. Whatever this place is, with the detestable smells and sounds, she will be Queen of it. It will belong to her and be reshaped to her image. 

 

She cannot feel her heart calling to her in this place, only a weak murmur that she is unsure of. Lost in a sea of lesser beats, but there is that violet thread in the air, that pulsates weakly. If the Queen were stronger she could follow it. It should not be too long now, if her servant has done his work. 

 

He leads through narrow streets and then finally to great edifice, with great tall palms lining its front. It must be a palace, belonging to whoever rules this city now. There are countless smooth pillars inside it, floors that reflect the light that as if by magic feels the room. Like in the streets, there are two many people here and hearts too loud and weak to her taste. The Queen watches her servant move around this place, hears his voice turn smoother and sees his lips crook sideways. All tell tale symptoms of the defect in his chest, that little thing that can barely thump without selfishness and greed. He will not take her hand, he is smart enough to know better than to attempt to touch a Queen. A god. Still, he leads her up stairs and through rooms with the air too thick in them until they reach one where the breeze runs free.

 

The man whose eyes she is wearing is seating alone by a window, perhaps wanting to imagine what he can no longer see. The Queen takes a seat next to him, as the servant speaks with him. The man sounds pleased with what he says, his voice covered in self-pity.If she had her heart, it would only harden, this she knows for certain. The man moves to touch her and her servant stops his hand before he can reach her robes. His words feel him with dread, because he stammers and there is pleading and begging in his imperfect speech. The Queen removes her mask, places her half face over his own. She breathes in his skin, tastes his blood in his loaned tongue, slowly begins feeling more whole. There is more blood and less air and sand painted in her flesh. The man becomes a dry shell of a thing, no more than he was in life. 

 

The thread hums, clearer now that some of her self has been returned to her. It may take the Queen some time,  but she can follow this violet through the streets of Memphis back to her heart. She watches the sunset as she returns the mask to her face. 

 

* * *

 

He loves this house, it’s big enough that when anyone speaks there is echo. He can hear Yaquta laughing and Granny praying without trying to hard. The wooden shutters let in just enough light and make all sorts of shapes in their shadows, like stars and flowers. There is the room where mom takes her coffee and reads, the one with blue and golden pillows on the floor. And the courtyard that gets so wet and slippery when it rains that he gets scolded whenever he doesn’t slow down to cross it. Henry can always hear the click of mom’s heeled shoes against the floor whenever she gets home. It isn’t like where they lived in London. It was a small flat up in a third floor, the stairs were wooden and they creaked too much. It was cramped and his bed had been a bit springy, he remembers that. So mom would layer his mattress with two duvets and make the stove hotter. He didn’t go to school back then but he learned everything on their kitchen table or in some back room at the museum when it wasn’t too drafty. Mom had seemed happy then but she looks happier here. Well, before her eyes turned glassy at Hamunaptra before.. _.it _ . He had tried to look at her, but she had given him that trying-too-hard smile. But he hadn’t said anything because she should. Maybe he’s a little mad at her for that.

 

They have all gone to get clean, to wash off whatever dirt they had manage to collect in three days. He smells, he knows he smells. Auntie Zelena had told him more than once, said she worried that he was coming into his man stench. Whatever that means. It was going to be time for supper soon anyway and after days in the desert and river, he is really looking forward to Granny’s cooking. He pulls a white cotton nightshirt over his head and sighs as he feels over his clean skin. Just as his stomach begins growling he hears Granny’s call. 

 

He stuffs his face with eggplant, kofta, and falafel. He is so hungry, he will even eat raisins with his bread and oil. Emma does the same, except she eats like someone is going to take it all away from her. Yaquta shakes her head at the both of them and Granny looks pleased even if she tells him to slow down or he’ll swallow his tongue. Mom is barely touching her food, she’s just drinking and taking a few bites here and there. And it’s not right, because mom loves food. She’s the only person Granny allows to use the oven room and actually make whole meals. He doesn’t like this one bit and he’s bursting to say something. But he won’t, not yet anyway. With mom the timing has to be right. He looks over to Emma, and she’s watching mom too. They all are, even Auntie Zelena who is pouring wine into her glass. Mom is either trying really hard to ignore them or she doesn’t realize at all. Maybe it’s like when in the passageways of Hamunaptra when she couldn’t hear a thing. He hopes it isn’t. 

 

They sit around and talk for a while, pretend everything is fine. Pretend that there isn’t a mummy back in the desert that had woken up because mom read to him from a book. Say nothing about it to Granny and Yaquta, and make jokes and tell stories. Emma just listens, he thinks she can catch a word or two of Arabic, she may be even worse than Auntie  Zelena. She laughs at the right times, that counts for something. At his first yawn, mom head snaps to look at him. And it’s like it’s the first time she’s seeing him, like she had never known his face. 

 

“I think that means it’s time for bed, hijo.”

 

“Mom…” Henry really is tired but he’ll resist because that’s what he would do on a normal day. 

 

“It’s been a long three days. I’ll tuck you in.” She says getting up from her place. 

 

“OK.” And with one glance at Emma he knows she can help mom with whatever is happening to her. “Can Emma come up with us?” 

 

“Uhh..Henry I don’t think your mom..” Emma begins, ears turning red. 

 

“Please? I’ll sleep easier.” And he isn’t lying, not with that thing out there. She won’t deny him his request when he’s like this. 

 

Mom eyes soften like she’s really there again and cups his cheek like she does when she’s about to tell him she loves him. “Sure, Emma can come.” 

 

* * *

 

Emma is standing in a corner of Henry’s bedroom, arms crossed and shoulder pressed against the wall. She feels like an intruder, even if the kid had wanted her to come. There are scattered toys around the room, puppets that Henry probably got when he was younger, a wooden dancing top. Story books, mismatched shoes. Regina would have scolded him it was a different night, she’s sure. It’s the type of child’s room she had only dreamed of growing up, Emma never knew it could be real. There is a big bed with cotton sheets and goose feather pillows, the soft moonlight filtering through the shutters. Incense lit by a mother who knows her child needs it to feel calm. This scene seemed as unreal to her as a girl as magic had seemed a couple of days ago. And yet here is Regina sitting on the edge of Henry’s bed, smoothing down his hair and looking like herself for the time being.

 

“You have everything you need?” She asks him, the smile weak on her lips. 

 

Henry eyes briefly travel to her direction and then return to Regina’s. “Could you stay until I fall asleep?” Little insightful shit. Emma’s chest does that thing that threatens to fill itself with something that doesn’t belong to her. 

 

“Of course, sweetheart. We’ll stay as long is it takes.” Regina still isn’t looking at her as she says this. But she swears that maybe she can pick up on the way Emma’s heart is up in her throat. 

 

“Yeah. Yeah.” Emma knows the words sound stupid and not enough but it’s all she has. 

 

“Come sit by the bed, then.” Henry says, eyes shining with something. Kid’s too smart for his own good.

 

Emma breathes in and picks up the chair next to her and carries over to the foot of the bed. She sitting stiff in it, not knowing what to do with herself other than to stare at Regina’s profile. 

 

“Mom can I have a story?” 

 

“Which one would you like, Horus and…”

 

“My name’s story.” He cuts her off  like he has a purpose and she really has no clue what that story means to mother and son. Because Regina grows quiet and sighs heavily. 

 

“Henry…” It’s a soft warning and she has that same expression she wore their first night by a desert fire. 

 

“It’s the one I want. Mom, please.” 

 

“Since you’re so sure.” Regina says, still uncertain. It’s about her, about Emma sitting so close to them.

 

Regina begins the story, almost ten years ago. She had been so young, Emma thinks and she can almost see her. Hair pinned up, one year into the War, on a stormy night. Living in a country that wasn’t hers, and slowly the pieces come together. Moses, baby Moses, because she found him in a basket and called him hers. A twenty-two year old who had no reason to want and protect a crying baby boy from the world other than she felt he was meant to be hers. Because she didn’t believe in fate, or rather fucking despised it, but when she found him she believed that things could go right for her just this once. Regina looks at him the way no one had ever looked at her, not even when her eyes been so green and big and her baby curls had been soft and golden. Not when she was taken from the orphanage and given a mark she hadn’t understood for twenty eight years. And Henry...he looks at his mom without fully understanding what everything really means. There is no way he knows about the names, the doors slammed in her face, all willingly taken. He doesn’t know, Regina will never tell him. It’s why they thrive here in Cairo, no questions to be asked, no stories to make up. No need to hide their skin under winter coats and scarves. Fuck, she sees too much for her eyes not to water and for her chest to feel too small. 

 

Henry’s eyes are closing and his hand is grasping at a pillow, and Emma gets it now. Why he wanted this particular story. It wasn’t about him at all. She balls her hands into fists because she doesn’t know what do with them, she doesn’t know what to do about her dumb heart giving itself to where it wants to be wanted. There is this panic that follows this, they are not safe here. There is a literal monster risen from the dead searching for bodies to eat. Emma has to get them out of here, away from their home if that’s what it takes. Not one thing, dead, alive, or in between, can touch them. She has to make sure of that, with a rifle or her firsts. It doesn’t fucking matter. He’s asleep now and Regina gently leaves his bed and barely motions for Emma to follow her out

 

Regina hadn’t meant for her to follow her all the way to her study in the third floor. Emma knows that but she had crossed the threshold anyway. Everything is neatly arranged in it, books all lined up in the shelves and stacks of paper on a large desk. A painting of a horse done in papyrus, laced with gold and hung on the wall. 

 

“Is there something you wanted?” Regina asks pouring herself a drink from the dry bar. 

 

“Uhh..I..” Emma thinks she better just come out and say it. “We should get out here. Get a ship out anywhere. You, me, the kid. Zelena.” 

 

Regina laughs, like Emma’s the biggest idiot she has ever met. 

 

“I mean it, Regina.” 

 

This stops her in cold and makes her grip her glass tighter. 

 

“We can’t,” She takes a gulp of her drink. “That thing is still out there.”

 

“And how is that your problem?!” Emma is sure that there’s something Regina buried deep inside herself, something that swirls around in her eyes like purple smoke. 

 

“Well, it’s everybody’s problem!” Her voice has turned defensive but at least, it’s sounding less hollow. Even if the lie is blatant. 

 

“Bullshit. You can’t even look me in the eye! Something happened to you back there in the desert, didn’t it?” 

 

“That’s irrelevant,” She straightens her back to make herself look taller. Regina makes a point to lock her brown eyes with hers. “I awakened it, and I intend to stop it.” 

 

“Listen to yourself! There is an angry, walking corpse out there...it’s..it’s insane! It’s not safe here!” 

 

“It’s not safe anywhere!” Regina finally snaps. “You heard what that woman said, it will never eat, it will never sleep, it will never stop!” 

 

“She also said that no mortal weapon could kill it!” Emma hadn’t realized when she had moved to be only a step away from her. 

 

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to find some immortal one!” 

 

“Goddammit, Regina…”

 

She lifts one hand up as if to stop whatever it is she was going to say. “You took me to the desert and back. That’s it. Contract terminated.” There is a practiced coldness in her voice and lips and it cuts right through Emma. 

 

“Is that all this is to you? A contract?” She’s practically in her face now, scowling but hands trembling and her heart being a moron. 

 

Regina’s eyes narrow and turn into a hard steel. “Why don’t  _ you _ run, Miss Swan? Since you’re so good at it?” 

 

This makes Emma take a step back, it feels like all the air has been punched out of her. 

 

“That’s not fair.” She manages to say without looking away. 

 

“But true.” Regina takes another gulp from the amber drink in her glass. 

 

“Fuck you.” 

 

“Right back at you, dear.” 

 

Emma clenches her fists before storming out. She goes down the stairs in a rage, muttering curses under her breath. Things she should have said. Emma hates this, never even her life had rejection stung so bad. Like cheap vodka on a festering wound. She gets to the bottom of the stairs and sits, face between her hands. Deep breaths and her nails pressing against her palms are all she has to keep from crying. Fuck this, she wants to say. Emma should get her things and walk out that door. Leave where she isn’t wanted. She should have seen this coming, of all the dumb things to do...and that empty space inside her begins to feel larger and larger. But even then, Emma can’t walk away into the night. She sees a pair of feet standing before her and she looks up to find Yaquta’s tall figure in front of her. Judging by the way she’s pressing her lips together and offers her a plate of food, Emma knows she heard the raised voices. Good pair of ears she has. 

 

“My grandmother said you have a face that is crying for something sweet.” She tells her sitting next to her. “I think she is right.” 

 

“Thanks.” Emma says quietly accepting the plate. 

 

“You are lucky you are not English. She would hardly spare sweets for you if you were.” 

 

“Is that why she gives Zelena a hard time?” Emma doesn’t even try to smile for her. 

 

“Among other things.” Yaquta sighs and nudges her. “Eat. It will be good for you.” 

 

Emma picks up the tiny syrupy pockets and bits into the crispy dough and tastes cheese and sweet nuts. She’s right, it is good for her. Almost for the whole two minutes it took her to wolf them down Emma had forgotten about their fight. But there isn’t enough fucking sugar in the world to make her forget that. She sets the plate aside and sucks in a breath, Yaquta places a hand on her shoulder. 

 

“You have to understand. Regina is...what is the word?” 

 

“An ass?” 

 

“Stubborn,” Yaquta says, missing Emma’s meaning. “She will push, and push. You should have seen her when she told grandmother she wanted to rent the whole of the house and grandmother would not accept. She came every day for three weeks until grandmother agreed.” 

 

Emma doesn’t know what to say, and feels she isn’t done making her point. She gives her a nod. 

 

“If she believes to be in the right, there is no stopping her.” Yaquta says matter-o-factly, like it’s something that should have been obvious to Emma. “She will push you away because she is scared of pulling you closer. Don’t leave. Please.” There is a sharpness about her that tells Emma that she probably picks up on these things before anyone else does. 

 

“I...I..wasn’t going..I won’t.” Emma says a bit stunned. “I promise.” 

 

“Good.” 

 

There is a heavy pounding at the front door. Yaquta furrows her brow and gets up to answer it. Emma follows her, something twisting in her gut. As soon as she opens up, three out of breath Americans barge in. The blond one, the one the face like a son of a bitch, and one with a bad haircut. Fear sets in when she notices that they have not brought their friend with...their injured friend with them. Their sweat looks cold on their faces. 

 

“You have no idea how hard it was to find you people!” The blond one says.

 

“What the hell happened to you?”

 

“That thing...it..Oh fuck. It found Burns and..finished him off.” 

 

“Shit.” She clenches her fists and feels the syrup between her fingers. The realization of what these assholes have done sets in. “And your first thought was to come here?! When that thing is chasing after you?!” 

 

“We didn’t know what else to do!” The one with the mean face says. 

 

Emma moves to the well and pulls the bucket up to wash her hands and splash some water on her face, to cool down. And to try to keep from punching them. She scrubs her hands clean and then splashes some on her face, Emma shakes her head before facing them again. The look on their face is pure horror and she glances down at her hands, and the water in the bucket. Blood, it had turned to blood. Fuck, fuck. 

 

“Emma!” Yaquta calls from the foot of the stairs. She doesn’t need to say anything else, it’s here. That thing is here. 

 

* * *

 

The whiskey she drank is still burning her throat and is hot in her stomach, just like her fury is. Angry tears prick at Regina’s eyes, because of course she would scratch away at a helping hand. Of course she would hurt Emma out of fear, because there this thing inside her and out in the air that she doesn’t understand yet. Somehow Regina knows that the creature is her responsibility, and it is something more complicated than guilt for bringing back into their world. It cannot be understood on any terms, it certainly doesn’t make sense. But it’s that thing people say they feel deep in their bones, something beyond fear and the appeal of the dangerous. Regina feels her stomach twist and turn, with the burn of the whiskey and an obsessive panic she has never felt before. She frantically searches through her things, looking for the black chest with the Book of the Dead. Her hands get caught in her hair when she realizes it’s missing, the one thing that could give her any sort of answers, the thing that she felt belonged to her, is gone. Most likely stolen by Spencer in the midst of their rush out of Hamunaptra. Perfect, por la grandísima puta que lo pario. What the hell is she supposed to do now? Now that Emma has probably left for good and her son is sleeping one floor below her. 

Regina feels a stab to her heart, strong and sudden. She falls against the wall, trying to keep from collapsing into herself. It’s here, it’s here. That explosive and terrible pain tells Regina that it is set to appear and she is powerless to stop it. This time the angry tears flow freely from her eyes  A gust of wind rushes through the window, followed by a whirl of sand. The creature found her through the thread that had been woven through Regina’s ribs. Her voice is trapped in her throat, she can’t call for help or move to save herself. From the sand becomes its body, more complete this time. Patches of new skin are on its neck and hands. It has killed, has taken one of the cursed American’s skin. The creature is slowly rebuilding itself, consuming men to fashion herself a body. It’s watching her again, through blue eyes. Regina wonders why it doesn’t just kill her, why it only seems to revel in standing there as her heart threatens to burn itself and melt her bones with it. It comes closer, and instinctively Regina closes her eyes. 

 

She is not in her study anymore, not within the safety of its four walls. She is young a girl, dressed in white and clenching her fists. It’s a cool day at the palace, and she is standing by a pool and she can tell the water is cool and fresh. But it doesn’t matter because she can feel mother’s anger boiling within her. She had caught her dripping with sweat and dirt and on a stallion’s back. She will be queen, not a simple footsoldier or slave. Queens do not act with such indignity. 

 

**“I do not want to be Queen!” She regrets it the minute the words leave her mouth.**

 

**“And what would you be if you are not? A servant? A slave girl?” Mother’s eyes are cold in that terrifying way that signal the coming storm.**

 

**“I…”**

 

**“You will be Queen because you are my daughter, and so shall your daughters be. In time, you will thank me.”**

 

**“But mother, there are others besides me!”**

 

Mother slaps so hard that she knows her cheek has reddened. Gone is the cotton dress, but the sting of mother’s hand remains. Regina can barely breathe in her new white dress and the long gloves she wears are making her hands sweat. The fire is crackling in her bedroom in New York and she ashamed of herself because she feels tears welling up. She cannot give her mother the satisfaction, she cannot give Cora Mills another reason to hurt her again. 

 

“You will go to this ball, Regina. You will not ruin what I’ve worked so hard to get. You will go because you are my daughter and there is no other way to succeed in this life.” 

 

“What if I don’t want it?” 

 

Her mother grabs her by the throat but when Regina looks again, it’s the King’s hand that is closing around her windpipe. She had pleaded with the Pharaoh, she had seen the fierce and furious look in her lover’s eyes when they went after him, sword in hand. He lets her go and with a raspy voice she begs her brother not to end her beloved’s life, they are badly injured as it is, bleeding from their side. The healers should look at them, and then they could both leave Thebes. Leave this royal city, never to return. He has his concubines, his other wives. If he could just let her have this. But then he pushes her aside and slits her beloved’s throat. Blood runs and runs from their throat like a river and stains their face red. Their hair turns from coal to sunlight, their eyes alternate between brown and green as Regina watches the light leave them. She can’t take much more of this and forces her eyes to open, to face the creature before her. And the word isn’t right, because this half-thing was a woman just like she is now. Regina looks at her, all types of tears stinging her eyes. It could have been her, she knows. Had she watched her love be killed right before her eyes she would have gone mad with rage and grief. The King’s men would have bound her to a curse for three thousand years because they feared her so. As all these realizations hit Regina the pain grows worse, sharper, like a dagger that is being twisted through her bones and into the fabric of her heart. The room is starting to spin and it’s still unclear why she is not attacking Regina. What she wants from her, why it just stands there, waiting. 

 

She moves even closer to her, extending her hand to grab her face and Regina feels her eyelids starting to drop but then door bursts open. 

 

“Hey ugly!” Emma shouts from the door, face red with blood. “Over here!” 

 

She turns to roar at Emma, and it sends shivers down Regina’s spine. She is petrified against the wall, desperately holding on to her heart. Emma shoots at the mummy, but her body becomes sands and swallows the bullets with ease. Too soon the bullets run out and she marches towards Emma, ready to devour or dismember her. Emma stands her ground but raises her crossed arms to her face, looking like she had expected death to finally come for her. The mummy shrieks and stumbles backwards when she catches sight of Emma’s marked wrist, she turns into a cloud of sand and escapes through the window. 

 

Emma looks down at the black Wedjat on her skin for a second before rushing to catch Regina before she falls.

 

“Your face is disgusting.” Regina manages to say when she feels her arm around her shoulders. 

 

“I know.”

 

Regina takes deep breaths and lets Emma hold her, not even minding how her hands are staining her blouse. 

 

“Emma…” Regina looks into her eyes and isn’t afraid. “You stayed.” 

 

“I did.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one short note this time. Memphis used to be located in the geographical area of modern Cairo. It began declining in the 18th dynasty as Thebes rose. The Queen herself belongs somewhere in the 19th dynasty, before Ramses II. Let's pretend it's a Queen and Pharaoh that have been erased from historical records haha.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: description of a corpse

She prefers the desert sky, the way it seems to be joined at its end with the beginning of the dunes. The city has always made Maryam uneasy, there is not enough space. There is no place for her here or for her people. They were born in the desert, like their mothers and their mothers before them. But even she knows when it’s time to venture back into a world that is not hers, necessity had called out to her once before and it does again tonight. More and more travelers with pale complexions so unused to the way the Sun burns in the afternoon had been arriving at the city of the dead. So many that Maryam had gotten on her horse and ridden to Cairo to strike a deal with a man who her brothers and sisters said looked like a demon. Judging by the glint of his gold tooth and the way he rested on his cane, Maryam could not much disagree. Despite her instincts foreigners needed to be kept away from Hamunaptra and it was in his power, as head of the museum in the city, to stop any expedition that might come their way. The man had agreed back then, all too happy to keep men from their deaths. Too ready to believe in a curse and creature that no one aside from her people know to be real. She should have known by the dark shine of his eyes that he was concealing something. Even now Maryam doesn’t know what it is, but her bones tell her that she must find him, confront him.

She has learned how to hide herself well, and the cover of darkness makes her invisible in her black clothes. Something weighs down the air, and she thinks it’s perhaps that the creature roams these streets. It must be hunting, eyes glowing in the dark with hunger and intent. How many of those men must it have killed by now? Maryam tries to keep the shudder away from her spine, but it is of no use. She feels it travel up and down her back as she approaches the museum. It is not difficult to get inside and judging by the way one hallway is lit the man with the gold tooth is still here. Strident music echoes from the walls and perhaps the man is enjoying it. Maybe he had been expecting her and set this atmosphere that threatens to swallow her whole for his amusement.

“Aah, if it isn’t my little desert friend?” He says appearing behind her, not even bothering with the language. “You seem awfully...preoccupied.”

 He seems pleased with himself, almost caught in celebration.

“The creature has awoken, but I do not suppose you need telling.”

“Has it?”

 “ _We had a deal_ . _One that I trusted you to honour…”_

“And I did! I did everything in my power to stop anyone from reaching the City of the Dead.” He moistens his lips, is savoring the moment. “But it is beyond my capabilities to alter the will of those head-strong enough to march to their deaths…”

“ _You_ …” A horrible feeling sets at the pit of her stomach. This man hides his true self, his hand has been at work in this catastrophe. Maryam doesn’t know yet how.

There are four voices and footsteps in the museum now, maybe bickering but together.

“...Now if anyone has any sort of answers it would have to be Gold.” Says one

“And you trust him?”

“Not as far we can throw him.” Replies another one with a snort.

A child laughs, or at least attempts to because he is frightened.

Maryam knows who they are before they’re all in the same room.

“You!” The one with the yellow hair says when they meet.

“A bigger party than expected!” Says the man with the gold tooth. “Miss Mills, nice to see you in one piece.”

The dark haired woman, whom she had begged to get as far away as she could, her face turns sour. Something like understanding flashes through her eyes.  “Go to hell.” She spits out.

“Would you rather hurl insults at me or do you care to have your questions answered?” He looks at Maryam as he speaks, as she is an accomplice in his malice. But she supposes she is, without her consent or knowledge. It’s up to her to begin speaking.

Maryam goes back to the beginning, to how Pharaoh’s guards had been ordered to capture the Queen. She had murdered their King, their god, and needed to be punished. Cursed for it, and it is not lost on Maryam how the dark haired woman tries to grab at her heart. She already knows this, somehow, but it’s torturing to hear it from her mouth. To know that it is firmly rooted in reality. What Maryam doesn’t say is how her ancestors slaughtered the Queen’s servants, how even some of them had tried to protect her. How a few of their ancient mothers had been buried in the City of the Dead with her mistress. The woman tells Maryam about the creature, how it praised her roaring heart, how it doesn’t seem to want to harm her. About memories that feel familiar but are not her own. This earns her somber looks from her family, the boy grips her hand in his. The red-headed woman eyes narrow with something like sadness while the green eyed and bright haired woman’s jaw tightens. This is all new to them, she had not dared to confide in them until this moment. It isn’t all, there is still something locked deep in her consciousness; Maryam knows but only gazes at her.

The heart of the Queen, Maryam explains, had been removed so that the she could never be complete, neither in death or life. Without her heart there is no Underworld to where she could go if her life was taken from her. In her half-life she cannot summon the magic of the Mother, cannot read from the Book of the Dead with a hollow chest.

“Well, that’s all very tragic, but what does it have to do with me?!” The woman crosses her arms on chest, wanting Maryam to contradict what already goes through her mind.

“Oh dearie, I think you know.”The man with the gold tooth replies. “She needs a heart and yours will do perfectly. It’s saving the best piece for last.”

“Tough luck, old mum.” The red-headed woman says dryly and gets a glare in response from the dark haired one and a nudge in the hip from the boy. The boy who just listens, like he is thinking of a million different plans to save his mother.

“When it...it seemed to be afraid of this.” She says lifting up her arm for Maryam to see.A great of eye of Horus is tattooed on her skin. “As long as I’m around then it can’t get what it wants, right?” There is a shake to her hands, as if she is not prepared for this but will do it anyway. For a thousand years if she has to, even if her knuckles break and her heart gives out.

“It will only fear the Wejdat for some time, as it grows stronger the less afraid of the eye of Horus it becomes. You cannot protect her forever.” The woman blinks, expecting to have the meaning of her words go by unrecognized. “Once the curse has been fulfilled it will not make a difference.”

“Great.” Sighs the dark haired woman as she rolls her eyes. “What are we supposed to do now?”

“Is the Book of the Dead in your possession? That could slow down the creature’s plans for some time.”

“I’m afraid, Miss Mills doesn’t have it. A colleague of mine was supposed to precure it for me, but he seems to have run off.” The man says with a chilling calm.

“You’re involved in all this, aren’t you?! Why do I get the feeling there was nothing accidental about the puzzle box, the burning of the map, everything?” The dark haired woman is furious, she has figured out what Maryam couldn’t. “What could you possibly gain from all of this?!”

“My reasons are my own, dearie.”

* * *

 

Regina had expected the night air to be sobering, like it had been all those times a party had threatened to suffocate her. This time the air is charged with a strong pulse, a violet one that Regina now knows only she and the Queen can see. It’s like lightning, and she feels like when she did when she was five and covering her ears waiting for thunder. “Don’t be silly, Regina. It’s only a storm”  her mother’s harshness rings through her mind and she hates that it is an aide at this moment. This horrible moment, with the pulsating air and the heart that becomes explosive in the presence of the Queen. A hand grabs at her wrist and pulls her back away from Henry and into a dark corner. She doesn’t appreciate this abruptness.

“ _We still have one advantage over the creature,”_ The woman from the desert tells her quietly. It’s something she wants to keep from Gold. _“It needs you in the City of the Dead to take your heart.”_

Regina nods. “ _I had guessed as much.”_ She tries to keep her breathing steady and her temper in check.

Through the darkness Regina can still see that she is carrying a secret with her. Something meant only for her ears. “ _The heart. It must go willingly.”_  

“ _What?”_ Regina hisses because she cannot help it, her mind cannot deal with cryptic sentences right now.

“ _The creature. It cannot take your heart by force. Not if it wants it for itself. Be strong, sister.”_

Regina looks away from her because the cold sweat running down her back and the way her whole body aches make her feel anything but strong. Because she understands what she means.

 _“I will try.”_ She hopes her weariness doesn’t show in her words, that her voice doesn’t crack. Her mask can only last for so long. Regina releases herself from her grip and walks towards Henry.

“What was that about?” Emma asks her with that voice that wants to dig deeper.

“A warning, that’s all. Apparently the mummy needs to take me back to Hamunaptra to…” Regina considers her words as her son looks up at her. “..To perform the ritual.”

“OK, so we just don’t go back there,” He says with such determination and simplicity, with the straightforwardness and clear logic of a sweet child. “Right? That’s easy.”

“Very easy, pet.” Zelena says ruffling his hair. The shadow in her sister’s eyes meets her own tells her she sees her. Mills’ blood always knows.

The wooden door feels heavier as she pushes open, as if her muscles have thinned in a matter of hours. Even the sound of Emma’s boots against the tile sounds louder, if a pin were to drop she would feel its metal point digging into her eardrum. A lone American is sitting on the floor, with his back to the wall and head in his knees. Granny watches him from a distance and Yaquta sits at a few feet away from him, almost like she is guarding the house. They should have been gone, all of them. Regina had seen run out her front door, dispersing in the street. Every man for himself, that way they would be protected from death. But she had known, with this heaviness in her chest, that it would only be a matter of time. Together or apart, they would be found. His hunched figure suggests that the worst has happened. Emma walks over to him and pulls him up in one strong motion. Suddenly Regina realizes that she must have done it a thousand times. Carried frightened men away from danger, men she didn’t like or perhaps didn’t deserve to be saved but she had done it anyway. It’s who she is,but certainly not what life would have shaped her to be. It takes what little breath Regina has away from her.

Yaquta takes Henry away from them and he goes without a word. The three of them take the man upstairs into her study and seat him in a chair. Price, that’s his name. He has an ugly haircut, this mass of dirty blonde hair. Too much of it falls on his eyes, red with terrified tears. He is hardly breathing and clutching a sacred jar, the object of his destruction. He wears the face of man who just first thought of death as a real thing. One that is surely coming for him.

“We tried...to go. We tried. God. Daniels was just having some damn bourbon as we left!” He turns whiter and his adam’s apple bobs up and down his throat. “Then sand came and he..geez. Just a shell left.”

“How are you alive?” Zelena asks with no trace of lightness in her voice.

“I don’t know! Maybe that thing likes the hunt?! Who cares?! I just ran before it got me!”

“And you came here. Again.” Regina says as she grips the back of chair, it’s not kind but she has no kindness to spare.

“You made it go away before! I figured that maybe...maybe you could save me too?” His eyes are pitiful as he looks at Emma and Price suddenly looks minuscule in his seat.

Emma balls her hands into fists and turns away from him. Her shoulders sag like her arms are tired of holding up the sky. Regina thinks of how easily she steps in front of her, of how she had volunteered to stay and protect her from the Queen, if that’s what it took to keep her safe. She considers all these things as Emma shifts her weight from foot to another, still silent and thoughtful. Lost for words, not wanting to reject someone in need but the guilt of secretely wanting to refuse obscuring her features. Regina knows that it’s not her senses deceiving her, Emma’s heart truly is audible and racing with conflict and she feels chest swell with something a lot like tenderness. Or rather, exactly like it.  

“What we need is for you to work with us. Perhaps we can help each other.” Regina intervenes so Emma never has to reply.

“How?” He trembles in his skin.

“The Egyptologist. Spencer, where is he?

“Uuuh..I don’t know. He was smart,” Price laughs like he has lost all hope. “Split from us right after we left the city.”

“Do you know where we could find him?” Emma asks with her hands loosening up.

“Just his office.”

“Good. We can start there,” Regina buttons the cuffs of her blouse and runs a hand through her hair. “Lead the way.”

Price leaves the chair on wobbly legs as Emma and Zelena follow. As soon as they’re out of her study she shuts the twin doors and locks them. Regina has a plan, or at least the semblance of one. She wonders how much of this had been orchestrated by Gold, how much doesn’t belong to her. It doesn’t matter, she decides. The bottom line is this is meant for her alone. Her family cannot be caught in this. Regina knows where to find the answers Gold had refused.

“ Dammit Regina open the door!” Emma bangs insistently on it.

“Sis, this is really not the time for your melodramatics!” Zelena follows as she tries to turn the knob. “Open up!”

Regina opens her shutters and looks down at the street. There is a small ledge leading to just  the neighbor’s roof, if her footing is sure and her landing is good enough she can make it with ease. The last thing she hears before she sets out is Emma calling out to her.

 

* * *

 

The lock on Regina’s door is tricky, like it has a thousand little teeth that just won’t budge under the hairpin she had borrowed from Zelena. They don’t know if Regina is actually in there, if she’s just waiting for them to leave and give herself up to that thing. If that’s what she’s doing, Emma’s not leaving. If Regina somehow has left her study Emma has to see the empty room for herself and probably swear as she throws of that neat stack of paper off Regina’s desk.

“Has your sister always been like this?” Emma asks Zelena whose head is practically on her shoulder, like that helps any.

“Oh yes. Always.” She lets fondness spill out of her. “Once she took the trouble of burning all my knickers because I’d spilled red wine on a borrowed dress.” 

“You mean stolen dress?” 

“Whatever the word is, the reaction was the same. Completely blown out of proportion,” Zelena clears her throat. “Just like right bloody now.” 

Price, to his credit, says nothing as Emma tries to get the door open. When she hears that click, she sighs in relief and practically falls into the room. Regina’s gone. Fuck. 

“Well, isn’t this just like her?” Zelena mutters. “Of all the rash things to do…”  

“Shit.” Emma says as she sees the open shutters and the mess the wind has made in the room. “We need to go after her.”

“No, we’re not doing that.” Zelena says more serious than she has ever sounded.

“What? Are you crazy? She’s out there alone with a thing that wants her heart!” 

“Must you be so hard-headed? You heard what Gold said,” She breathes in deeply. “It’s saving it for last, so if we find the Egyptologist before it does…”

“We can stop it from getting to Regina.” Emma sees her point and as much as she doesn’t like it, Zelena is right. Their best chance comes if they find the Egyptologist and the Book of the Dead regardless of where Regina went. “Price, we’re going.”

He only nods and lets them take the lead down the stairs. He looks like he is about to pass out, like he doesn’t want to think about any of this. Like he wants to be carried out of here. Price is a man who’s had his wants and needs taken care of, he probably hadn’t even begun crying as a baby before he was up in his nurse’s arms. 

“Auntie Zelena, Emma...where’s mom?” Henry comes rushing out of one of the rooms downstairs. His brow is furrowed and it’s hard to believe that Regina’s blood had nothing to do with lines of his face.

“She...um..” She struggles for an answer. Emma can’t decide if the truth or a lie would be better. “Your mom had to step out.”

“You mean you don’t know where she is?” He asks like he can’t believe they managed to lose her and she can’t blame him. 

“You know your mother, pet.” Zelena tells him. She’s not used to playing this role, that much is obvious. The adult with answers rather than the aunt who knows the dirty limericks and drives his mother insane. “We’re going to go help her now.”

“We need you to stay here. In case she comes back, OK?” Emma tries to be convincing as she speaks to him. Why did Regina have to leave? Goddammit. “Promise me you won’t go looking for her.”

Henry nods and looks down at his barefeet on the hard tile. Emma crouches down, so that he is standing taller. She lifts up his chin, in a gesture that she doesn’t recognize but feels so natural, and makes him look into her eyes.

“I want to hear the words, kid. Your mom would want you to be safe. It'd be my neck and your aunt’s if something happened to you.” She tries to end that sentence with a laugh to make Henry feel better but she can’t. It just won’t come out of her, whatever causes laughter is not there right now.

“I promise.”He says quietly, eyebrows still knit together.

“Go up to your room and get under the covers.” Zelena says in some imitation of Regina that she hasn’t exactly pinned down.

He puts his thin arms around Emma’s waist and gives her a squeeze and does the same to Zelena before he heads up to his room. She has to trust that he’ll stay.

Price is too nervous to drive his car, doesn’t say a word besides the necessary directions. He holds on to the sacred jar in the back of the car, repeating the Lord’s prayer over and over again. It has a numbing effect on her too, Emma is not  paying attention to the way she turns the wheel or how the streets seem to narrow as they go. It’s that mark on her wrist again, the black one that would turn blue with time. For a minute tonight, she thought it had all made sense. To see that thing shriek and flee in terror, to feel Regina’s weight against her. For once, Emma thought it had been a good thing. That maybe, maybe, she could have lived up to that promise of being good and strong. For the first time, she hadn’t hated those words ringing in her mind. Didn’t mind them being fresh on her memory. And what had Regina done? Gone out the damn window, away from her. Off into the night, headfirst into danger. It is making her livid because Regina is not alone. But she had decided she is and shut them out.

“We’re here.” Price says his voice wet with fear.

They go up the stairs as quietly as they can, Price is the last to follow. It’s an unremarkable building, the inside made to look like every other British controlled building. Wood details that don’t belong, even the smell of expensive cigars and Scotch makes Emma believe they’ve left Egypt for a second or two. Someone’s pulling drawers out, smashing them and ruffling through what sounds like thousands of papers. The mummy of an ancient queen would not make such a ruckus, Emma reasons. She draws her gun out all the same and smashes the door open.

It’s Jones. Of-fucking- course it is. Rat bastard is always involved. He drops a rather expensive looking bust on the ground and she watches it shatter. He looks beyond startled to see her and moves to get away from her. She has always been faster than him, Emma grabs a chair and throws it at him. It hits him hard enough to make him stumble and give her enough time to pin him against a wall.

“What are you doing here, Killian?” Her voice feels rough travelling up her throat and out her mouth.

“Looking for my dear friend…”

Emma gives him a shove and presses her forearm against his throat. “I don’t have time for this. Now. Talk.”

“The black chest. It wants it.” He croaks out, his hook hard on her wrist trying to get her arm away.  “That’s all I know. Swan, I swear.”

Before she can respond Zelena is at her side, eyes shining with something she had never seen in her. It’s very much like fury and it’s terrifying to see it replace her usual flippantness and laughter. She pulls out a dagger from God-knows-where and places its tip on his temple. Emma shudders to think she’s done this before.

“Now, we’re going to try this one more time. What does it want?” Zelena runs the blade down to his cheek just short of enough strength to draw blood. “And try not to lie. A pretty face is all you’ve got left.”

Jones gulps and looks between them, Emma with her arm strong on his throat and to Zelena’s frankly shit-your-pants snarl.

“The chest, the chest. That’s it, I swear!” With enough pressure from both he looks ready to talk.”And your sister!”

“Listen you son of…”

There are screams out in the street, even this late at night. Emma’s grip on Jones loosens as her heart begins racing and he seizes the opportunity. Jones knees her in the gut and pushes Zelena away and jumps out the open window.

“A little help... would’ve been... nice there.. Price.” Emma breathes out pressing down on her her stomach as she looks at his frozen figure standing by the door.

More screams are coming from the street and she and Zelena heads towards the window to see whatever horror with her open eyes. There are people running away, men who were surely returning home from drinking. A hooded figure stands over a body in the street and Emma doesn’t need telling what it is. Dread fills her already frantic heart. They failed. Shit. Fuck. Shit. It turns to look at her, its face hidden behind a mask. Almost like it’s ashamed of its appearance. She won’t dare to think of just how human that it is. She can’t afford to, not when the body of the Egyptologist lies dried out on the ground. Not when it’s holding the black chest under her arm and Emma’s breath sticks to her insides when she recognizes the way it cradles it, the way it stands with it.  It looks like...no. Emma feels like she’s about to be sick. She can’t afford to think about this.

 It raises its hand towards her, in what looks like recognition. A strong swirl of sand and wind come from her, just like the roar Emma recognizes as her war cry. They close the shutters to keep it out.

 “ _Now_ can we go after Regina?” Emma asks Zelena as her shaky hands find her hips. She thinks this might give her some shadow of confidence.

 Zelena only nods in return.

 “What..what about me?” Price asks and he sounds so small.

 “We’ll figure it out along the way.” Emma moves away from the window, wanting to give him a better answer. “Come on.”

 Figuring it out along the way turns to Price hiding out in the back seat as they drive through deserted streets. Part of her wanted to ditch him because he is like wounded fish in the ocean, he’ll only attract death. Zelena had actually suggested it, but even then she could not leave him. Because she knows that he’s already dead. Has been since he touched that sacred jar he’s holding. This is only a small mercy.

 “You’re sure this is the way?” Emma asks Zelena.

 “Yes. And step on it.”

 “You think Regina is really there?”

“It’s the safest bet. And I should know about that.” She says with a slight scoff. “I avoid making them all the time.”

A thick cloud of sand suddenly engulfs them making Emma lose control of the wheel. Fuck. The tires screech against the pavement and she feels the car veer off straight into a wall. Smoke begins mixing with the sand and she feels her lung with them. It’s a familiar feeling, it’s feels like drowning. Like her eyes will dim if she doesn’t reach air soon. Just when she is thinking that this time there won’t be a strong hand to save her the cloud disappears and only the busted engine’s smoke is left. On instinct Emma looks back to check on Price.His jaw is ajar in terror, only a thin layer of blue skin is left over his bones and his protruding teeth make him look like all he has ever been is a skull. This time she really does hurl.

“Oh..what? Oh, fuck me!” Zelena exclaims as she stumbles out of the car.

Emma takes a second to wipe her mouth clean and compose herself. They are no match for it...for her. For the Queen. Shit. She isn’t giving up, she can’t. Emma tightens her hands into fists until the skin of her knuckles stretches itself white. Until it feels like it will tear and expose the bone.

“We’re running the rest of the way.”

* * *

 

Henry had counted all the way to four-hundred-and-sixty before he set out after mom.  Yaquta had been at his door, making sure he wouldn’t run again. But he had to find mom, so he’d locked his door and opened his shutters. Heights. He hates them, even if it had just been the second floor of his house, something he wakes up to every day, he had still felt a tingling in his stomach as he’d looked down at the ledge. He’d stuck on to the wall as he placed one foot in front of the other and he is pretty sure he hadn’t been able to breathe until he had reached their neighbor’s roof. The one with the jasmine tree that is still growing and the white sheets they had forgotten to bring in at the end of the day. He looks up and sees that mom’s shutters are open, lowering his gaze he sees that some of the flowers have been squashed. She’d come through here. Henry smiles because Auntie Zelena had been right, he does know his mother. 

It’s how he’s sure that she went back to the museum. There is this great big and black stone with all sort of hieroglyphs. It’s been mom’s obsession, even if she doesn’t get to study it as much as she would like. She’s gone back and forth about it for months. Henry thinks she’s gotten into fights over it. Well not _fights_ more like arguments with the curator. He doesn’t like her snooping around the basement or something like that. It’s about the book of Amun-Ra, he knows that. He also knows that the scrolls inside the black chest had been the Book of the Dead. It’s what had brought that the thing back to life. Henry knows all about opposites, how if one thing brings something back to life the other must make something...not alive. So mom must be back at the museum, studying that stone down in the basement. That’s where he needs to be too. He walks up the stairs to the backdoor of the museum, the entrance mom uses to avoid Mr. Gold on Fridays. It’s unlocked, and he furrows his brow. It’s unlike her to leave it like this. Maybe she’s back to not being all there again. To not listening, to forcing her smile. He doesn’t like that. 

The museum is dark, and it should be. It’s nearly three in the morning. He tries not to be scared, he really does. But he sucks in a breath and runs through the room with all the sarcophagi and mummies because he doesn’t want to be chased. Henry thinks they’ll wake up and snatch him by the ankles and do whatever it is mummies do with children. He doesn’t stop until he’s going down the hard marble stairs leading to the basement. He slams the door behind him and leans against him and with a loud gasp he lets air back into his body.

“Henry!” Mom exclaims in surprise.

He tooks a second to really look at her. Some of her hair is sticking to forehead which is shiny with sweat. She seems thinner, somehow.But it can’t be, he’d seen earlier tonight and she hadn’t looked like this. Mom hadn’t been holding her chest like her heart was about to burst. Her clothes are even all messed up, the lace of her shoe is undone.

“You shouldn’t be here,” And it sounds like she doesn’t even have the energy to sound mom-like. “You should be home. Safe..”

“You mean away from you.” He makes sure he meets her eyes, that seem to have purple in them now. He walks towards her, never tearing his sight away from her.

“I…” She begins. “Yes. That is what I mean. Hijo, váyase de regreso. This is for me to do.” He sees tears welling up in her eyes. And he doesn’t like that because that means his will do it too and his voice will get higher than he wants it to be.

“No.” It’s all he manages to say.

“Mi vida, por favor…”

“NO!” His had gotten squeaky just like Hakim had always teased him about. “You need my help! Usted solo no lo quiere aceptar! Please. Mom...” He is crying, really crying now. 

Before he knows it her arms are around him and she doesn’t feel as small as she had looked a second ago. She still smells of jasmine and her grip is strong around him. She’s still mom. There is purple in her eyes, but they’re still soft when they look at him and her lips still curve a little upward before they press a kiss to his forehead.

 “Alright. But Henry, if anything happens I need you to do anything to stay safe. Hijo, is that clear?” 

“Yes.” He wonders if this will turn out to be another promise he breaks tonight. “Is there any important on there?” He points towards the stone.

“See here?” Mom gets to her feet and points to a small corner of the stone and he barely see it. It’s a little rough, like at one point it had been larger and now it’s broken. “See how Horus and Ra are together?”

“Sort of.” He sees squinting, feeling tears dry on his cheeks. “What does it mean?”

Mom doesn’t need to try too hard to smile. She has the same kind of look as she does when she wins an argument. “It means that the golden chest with the Book of Amun-Ra is under the statue of Horus.”

Henry’s eyes widen with surprise. “Not under Anubis?”

“No. Everyone’s been so wrong. Bembridge scholars…” She drifts off a bit in the way he doesn’t like. “And I didn’t see in time.”

“But you caught it! And the Book of Amun-Ra, it can...kill it, right?”

Mom looks a little hurt at the suggestion but it’s only for a second. He notices how she is trying to keep her hands away from her heart.

“I think so. Maybe it’s magic is strong enough to beat hers.”  Mom speaks like she knows the mummy. And maybe she does, because of that thing with the shared memories? That thing with it wanting mom’s heart.

 Then it hits him. The golden chest. It’s at Hamunaptra, the one place mom has to keep away from. “Mom. You can’t go back to the desert. You can’t.” Henry doesn’t care this time if his voice is high or how insistent he is when he grabs her hand.

“Henry, it’s the only way.” She sounds like she doesn’t have a choice. It seems to have like something snapped inside her just now. Like a rubber band that’s been stretched too far. “I love you so much, sweetheart. I never thought I could...not like this..and I..”

“Don’t talk like that!” He lets go of her hand and takes a few step backs. His tears are wet and angry. Snot will follow and he doesn’t care.

“Like what?”

“Like you’ll never see me again. Like you’re saying goodbye!”

“Hijo, please..” She reaches for him but he rejects her. He’s too upset to let her touch him.

“No! Let Emma and Auntie Zelena do it!” He crosses his arms on his chest like she does when she’s cross.

“I can’t ask them that. It’s complicated...Henry…”

And it’s like his words summoned them, because barging through the door come Emma and Auntie Zelena. Out of breath and drenched in sweat. He has never been so glad to see Emma’s beaten black boots and messy blonde hair. Not even when she had saved him from Hook on the boat. Auntie Zelena doesn’t look surprised, only does this eye roll thing that looks like mom’s but isn’t. He has never been happier to see her. Henry feels guilt build up around his neck when he catches Emma looking at him.

“Like mother, like son…” Auntie Zelena says between breaths.

“I cannot… Damn. We’ll get to that later.” Emma says as she walks over to where they’re standing. She grabs mom by the hand and urges him to do the same through a nod. “We need to leave _now.”_

“What happened?” Mom asks as Emma pulls her by the hand.

“I think the curse has run its course,”  She looks a little green as she says it. “Price is dead.”

 “And Her Majesty must be on her way here.” Auntie Zelena adds.

They run up the stairs, and Henry don’t really know where they’re going. There isn’t time to ask. He thinks anywhere is fine, anywhere away from it. He closes his eyes for a bit and lets mom lead him because he doesn’t want to see the dark shapes in this room again. He doesn’t open them until they’re outside. Until they come to a sudden stop. Henry can see why.

Hook holds the black chest as he stands next to a woman. She is dressed in white cotton, her skin dark and beautiful. She isn’t that tall but he knows he should be afraid. Henry dares to look up at her, and takes a step back when he sees her eyes. They’re dark, with the same purple mom has in hers. Actually, they _are_ mom’s eyes. Same shape, the same size, but they are not soft. Not kind. They seem only hard, hard in a way he has never seen in mom’s.

This is the Queen. The Queen who wants his mother’s heart.

* * *

 

There have been many times in her life that she has been filled by fear, times when she has been stupefied by something so awe inspiring that Regina hadn’t been able to move. Never had both those things met. She looks at the Queen, who is loose and proud in her body and sees her reflection in the eyes that are now dark as her own. Pain rushes all through her body, her heart feels like a hot and strong hammer against her ribcage. And she knows, she knows now that it’s trying to reach out to this mirror image of her. To this ancient twin that calls to it. The only thing that is keeping her from collapsing from the pain is the touch of Emma’s and Henry’s hands in hers. Regina feels Emma’s pulse racing almost as much as her own, the fury and panic coursing through her is palpable. She wonders if this is something the Queen can feel too, if she is aware of how Regina’s body wants to break and how Emma’s seems to want to bend to stop it. When her eyes, _her eyes_ , toughen it’s clear that she cannot feel a thing.

“ **Will you not come along, my Queen?”** She asks and her voice is low and inviting.

Emma draws out her gun with her free hand.

“Ah, ah. I wouldn’t do that if I were you, love.” The one-handed man says. He sounds pleased to finally have something over Emma’s head.

“Shut up, Jones.” She bites back.

Regina glances at Zelena and her face is heavy, like that time she had found her in a corner crying after receiving a letter from mother while Henry wailed in his cradle. It’s powerlessness that gives her features such seriousness.

The woman from the desert appears from the dark with her blade in hand. A gesture that seems particularly futile coming from her, but she seems determined. Regina wonders if she had been standing guard all night, if she had even moved from the dark corner from where she had last stood. What stubborn fools they all are; Henry had been right and she rubs a circle on his hand at the realization. She didn’t have to go at this alone and this thought is enough to make her blink her tears away. Just her luck to have such revelation, that feels as big as the universe, at the moment when she is facing death. Whatever god had designed this particular moment in her life?

 **“But you must come, there is no other way.”** The Queen takes three steps forward, her head held up proudly. Strong where Regina feels weak. **“Think of what you could become.”**

 **“Dead,”** Regina surprises herself by speaking the word. **“That is what you would have me be.”**  

 **“No, no. There is no death where I am, where I am taking you. Do you not see?”** She points to her newly formed body, graceful and young.

Seeing the woman from the desert Regina remembers her promise to try and be strong. Because her heart must be willing to give itself away, and judging by the way it tortures her she knows there is some hope left.

**“It is not something I want.”**

The Queen erupts in laughter. **“Of course it is! You just do not wish to accept it, not yet. I can see I need to persuade you some.”** She gets even closer and runs her eyes across all their faces. **“Now, if you will not give me your heart I might just take theirs…”**  

 **“Please, no.”** Regina begs her and she wants to step forward but Emma keeps rooted in her spot.

 **“Now who shall it be? The stranger from the desert? The sister from a different father?”** The Queen is delighted,it almost seems like a childish glee. As if she were picking sweets from the market. **“The woman with the Sun in her hair? Oh I know, maybe I’ll take the babe you suckled in secret…”**

At that Regina finds the strength, however painful, to break the chain that Emma and Henry had formed.

“Any bright ideas?” Zelena asks unaware of what is transpiring between her and the Queen.

“I’m thinking, I’m thinking.” Emma replies trying to hide the tremor that courses through her words.

“Well, you better think of something quick because if she turns me into a mummy you’re the first one I’m coming after.” Regina says turning to look at her, her resolve as strong as it’s going to get. Emma looks like lightning had just struck her. **“I will go with you.”** Regina moves close enough to learn that the Queen has no breath.

“What are you doing?!” Emma demands.

“What I have to.”

“Mom!” Henry cries out and that feels like another stab she takes to the heart.

“No. No.” Emma replies unable to accept her answer. She clicks her gun and set its sight at the Queen’s head.

“Emma, stop! She still has to take me to Hamunaptra to perform the ritual.” Regina takes the Queen’s arm, who is basking in her victory with a smug smile on her face. Not unlike her own, she thinks with a sick feeling. “There is still time.”

“She is right, friend. Live tonight, fight tomorrow.” The woman says as she grabs Emma’s hand and lowers it.

“MOM! Please, no! Don’t leave, no!” Henry tries to run to her but Emma envelopes him in her arms.

“Hijo..”

“NO!” He screams fighting Emma’s grip. "EMMA. SHE CAN'T!" 

Zelena seems to have anchored herself by holding Emma back, her eyes vacant and her lip trembling. She and the woman flank the knot that Henry and Emma have become.

“I’ll be seeing _you_ again.” Emma directs her threat at the Queen who doesn’t need to understand her words to smile an uncaring smile in response to them.

Sand and darkness surround take her as she still hears Henry’s cries.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nut is the goddess who held up to sky with her arms. Isis suckled her son, Horus, in secret.  
> Also, the Queen did change outfits because she is extra and I love her.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Descriptions of violence and use of gunfire.

 

It’s early and the air is a little crisp. Emma thinks she must have been staring forever at the steps the where Regina had last stood. It feels that way, like she had been lost years ago and the wound hadn’t healed. Like it will never heal. But forever hasn’t yet gone by, and it’s still three in the morning. The so called hour of demons, open to all sorts of horrors. So Emma had been told by the Sisters in one big girl’s home. She remembers Joan, the girl she shared a bed with, whispering in the dark and holding on to Emma whenever she woke up in the middle of the night. “Oh Emma,” she’d say grabbing the thin cotton of her nightshirt with one hand and her little cheap crucifix with the other, “The devil might come take us away.” Emma had never believed it. For a whole a month she had stayed up and watched corners for something that may lurk in them and never seen the devil. But with this emptiness and the darkness of the early morning Emma believes in demons that will come snatch away your heart . She believes in the most awful way.

It’s Henry struggling under her fingers that bring her out of her thoughts, she feels tears prickling at her eyes when she hears the heaviness in his breath. His movements get a little too rough in her hands, too much for a young boy. It’s powerlessness he feels. How many times had she felt just like this? She knows what it’s like to be angry to her very bones, to want to scream until her body gave out. To want to punch a wall until blood was drawn, she knows. Emma does the only thing she can do and it’s to kneel and wrap him in her arms. Henry tries to wriggle away at first, like he’s convinced that if he runs fast enough he’ll be able to catch the cloud of sand that took Regina away from them. But then his bony shoulders sag and he rests his forehead against her shoulder and sobs. 

“Why? Emma, why?” He whispers against her damp shirt. 

And the truth is, she doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t know why Regina seemed to have been fated for this. Why she and the Queen have the same eyes, why there is a shadow of similarity in the way they both smile. She doesn’t understand why have this mark on her wrist if in the end she couldn’t do a damn thing.  Emma is only sure that this is all bullshit. 

“I...don’t know, Henry,” Emma tells him and holds him a little tighter as she becomes determined. “But I’m going to get her back.”

“We all are.” Zelena says quietly ruffling his hair.

He lifts his head up from her shoulder to look up at his aunt and his brow furrows with determination. “I’m coming too.”

“What? Kid no,” Emma grabs his arms because he’s a brave boy, stupidly brave. “You’re not coming along. You’re staying…”

“Do you even know how to defeat the Queen?” He says a little too much like Regina. “Well, I do. Mom told me.”

“OK, how do we do it?”

“Nuh, uh,” Henry shakes his head. “I’m not telling you unless you take me with you.”

“Henry, pet..” Zelena warns in that voice she will never perfect.

“If you leave me behind I’ll just run away again! You know it’s true.” His eyes travel to Zelena’s face and back to hers, daring them to contradict him. Yeah, his mother’s son.

“Maybe you are good haggler after all, darling nephew.” Zelena gives him a small but proud smile.

“Do we have a plan?” The woman from the desert asks with urgency in her words. “The City of the Dead is a long ride away from Cairo.”

“Only on horseback.” Zelena says with some of that devious shine returned to her eyes.

Emma is armed to the teeth, her body heavier than she has ever felt it. She should be exhausted but her hearing is sharper. She’s aware of her own breathing, of the way Henry will once every few minutes brush his hand against hers to reassure them both. Her senses are so focused on these things that she doesn’t notice when they arrive at an airfield. The woman whose name she’s learned is Maryam looks at her questioningly and she shrugs. This is all Zelena’s doing. She sees her knock on the wooden door and a pair of brown eyes appear through the peephole.

“No.” A voice says before they shut it close.

“Ugh. Always such a bloody drag,” Zelena complains to no one in particular. “Your honor depends on you letting us in.” 

Emma hears a sigh behind the door and then the locks being pushed aside. A short woman stands there, black hair tied behind her back. Despite the clothes that suggest she had been sleeping, she doesn’t look like she had been pulled out of bed. She notes that there’s grain in her hand and some Chinese characters blurring away in her left forearm.

“Now was that so hard, Ping?” Zelena says moving past her and ushering them in.

“ Mulan.”  She corrects. “There are only so many times you can use that excuse, Zelena.” With those loaded words she walks behind them.

“Still mad about that thing with Oz, I see.” She says picking at some of the bread left on a table.

“General Oz…” 

“Was a twat. You’re better off without him and his squad of...” 

“Can we get to the point, please?” Emma says a little exasperated as a handful of chickens gather at her feet pecking at the grain. 

“Yes, we cannot afford to delay.” Maryam echoes Emma’s thoughts. “The Sun is already rising.”

“We need a plane,” Zelena tells earning a look of disbelief. “It’s not for me. It’s for my sister.”

“We need to get my mom back. There isn’t a lot of time,” Henry chimes in knowing full well what his curls and brown eyes do to people. “Please?”

“Your old flying monkey will do?” She asks Zelena after being caught in Henry’s gaze for two seconds.

“You have a plane?” Of all the things Emma had expected from Zelena this wasn’t one of them.

“ _Had_ a plane. She lost it in a bet.” It’s not a jibe, just a simple fact.

“Of course you did.” Emma says and hears Henry snickering. She’s glad she was able to do that for him.

He gets a little less cheerful as they begin preparing the plane, when he realizes that they will be lifting up into the air. He eyes the plane nervously, taps on the metal to make sure it’s sturdy.

“Hey, it’ll be OK,” She tells him before climbing in. “You’ll be riding with me in the backseat. I got you.” 

Henry nods and then his eyes turn to something behind her. “Is she really doing that?” 

She turns to see Maryam being strapped onto a wing by Mulan.

“Is this safe?” Maryam asks her.

“No,” She replies kindly. “But it will have to do, right?”

“Yes, it will.” 

Emma hears Henry gulp and she places a hand on his shoulder, rubbing small circles onto his shirt. Zelena tosses her two pairs of goggles from the nose of the biplane. Emma puts hers over her hair and then secures Henry’s over the aviator hat Mulan had given her. It’s too big on him but it’ll get the job done.

“There, now you look like a pilot.” Emma is trying to make this easy for him. For them. To make it seem less like life and death.

He gives her a weak nod.

“Oi, let’s get a move on!” Zelena calls to them climbing on board.

Emma follows suits and watches Henry’s unsure steps as he climbs on the ladder up to the seat. For now, they’re sitting tightly against each other. He’s almost on her lap and she thinks they’ll stay like this until she feels that his legs don’t shake as much against hers. Mulan spins the propeller as Zelena starts the engine, she gives Henry a very serious salute before they go down the track. He pinches his eyes shut when the wheels begin to leave the ground and she hears his breath hitch when that tickling feeling of take off is surely going through his small body. It’s not long before he dares open his eyes and lets himself look beyond the back of Zelena’s head or his feet. But it’s not the city that gets him, not the tiny looking buildings or the way the river curves in ways you wouldn’t suspect on the ground. It’s the desert that really captures him, the open sky that still has the tinges of orange of dawn and the golden sand beneath him. Emma wonders what is going through his mind, if this is making him forget, for a few blessed minutes, that his mother is in danger. She hopes so, because she can’t. The cloudless sky and the lightness of the air can do nothing about her clenched fists and the pulse that rings louder than the plane’s engine.

Emma glances down at Maryam strapped to the wing and is really surprised to see her enjoying the wind. She awkwardly gives her a thumbs up which gets Emma a confused head tilt from her. The only thing she can see of Zelena is the back of her head, but it’s obvious from her confident movements that she seems to be remembering a better time in her life. Emma can’t blame her, if she could do the same she would. But it’s impossible, she realizes with a knot forming in her throat, because the days after Regina had saved her from the gallows and before that the Queen had awakened is that better time for her. After a little over an hour the landscape starts becoming familiar, the same cliffs from which Maryam and her people had looked down at her appear. She tries to keep thoughts of death, of blood, of Regina, away from her because she will be no good to anyone like this.

As they get closer the wind gets stronger, picking up some sand with it. It looks enough like a twister to worry her. 

“I’ve never seen one so big!” Zelena shouts from her seat. 

“Never?”

“No!” 

She has a bad feeling about this and shifts in her seat so that her back will be on Henry’s and her fingers on the trigger of the machine gun. It’s stupid, Emma knows, to ready a gun against a twister but this is no ordinary twister. That much is clear when it turns into a wall of sand as if the whole Sahara has been swallowed by the wind. Shit. Shit.

“You’re gonna want to pedal faster!” She shouts at Zelena as the wall of sand only gets closer and closer.

It’s the Queen, it’s her face appears on the sand. It looks like an animal that is toying with its prey. Emma hopes that Henry has shut his eyes by now so that he doesn’t have to see this, doesn’t have to see the shape of his mother’s eyes coming for them. Without much else to do, Emma shoots at it and the damn thing _sneers_ when the bullets hit it. It opens it mouth, like it’s going to devour them and that’ll be the end of them. Zelena maneuvers as best she can but they’re stuck spinning in the mouth of the Queen, with no way out. Suddenly, the whirlwind of sand stops and they’re able to fly over a cliff. The engine begins sputtering, and with the noise it’s making she can see why the plane is called the flying monkey. The propeller alternates between working and not working and they start to lose altitude. It’s not long before they’re practically crashing into a sand dune. Fuck. 

“Kid!, Kid! You OK?” Emma asks turning as quickly as she can to check on Henry. 

“Yeah, I think so.” He mumbles, clearly frightened out of his mind. He won’t be flying for a while. 

Maryam somehow manages to untangle herself from the straps on the wing and dusts herself off, giving Emma a nod to tell her she’s fine. Not even in the best of the Legion, even those that had a shred of decency, had she seen someone like her.

Black smoke begins rising from the nose of the plane and Zelena climbs out of her seat, fanning it away from her face. 

“Ah bollocks, Ping will never shut up about this.”

 

 

* * *

 

The plane had been a speck of yellow in the growing blue of the sky, Regina had been sure that if her heart been able to feel something other than pain it would have jumped out from her chest. She had dared to hope that she would be allowed to live. The image of a stunned Emma with a gun in her hand, the sound of Henry’s cries had kept running through her mind. It’s all she’d had with her in the whirlwind of darkness and sand that took her away from them. Maybe she’d been sand too, broken down into tiny crystals, maybe hers and the Queen’s had been mixed then. Regina had been afraid of that the minute the plane’s engines disrupted the Sahara’s silence. The Queen had turned to look at her, with _her eyes_ , and had bared her teeth. Her twin had known why her heart ached, why her gaze followed that thing in the morning sky. With a laugh she’d sunken her feet into the sand that was still cool and lifted her arms. She’d sent out a call and the desert had answered it. The sand had risen like a wave, all in the domain of its master. Regina had understood then what the Hom-Dai had meant by the wrath of Egypt; a roar that surpassed a lioness's and a perfect storm summoned to squash the smallest of creatures. 

“She’ll kill them!” She’d said to herself, barely able to stand.

“That is the idea.” The one handed man had replied following the plane’s movements.  

Something had to be done and she’d thought about crystals again, about twins and a shared heart. Regina had grabbed the Queen’s hand and thought of the smell of the sea, of a memory that’d take them far from the desert. Regina had taken to her black hair being braided with red ribbons, to running on barefeet in the mud and catching fireflies between her fingers.  A caracoles, estrellas de mar y aguas malas. To shellfish and the taste of coconut until the Queen had broken their bond. She’d looked at her with disgust, and parted lips that suggested she was about to bite her. But Regina hadn’t cared because the plane had flown out of the sand. Hope is a dangerous thing and the Queen had felt it herself. Regina knows it by the way she turns her back to the desert and furiously marches her way into the city. 

The white of her dress trails after her and Regina finds it easier to walk pretend this isn’t some sort of funerary procession as she looks at it. They go deeper than they’d ever gone, past all the known chambers and done into the earth. It’s all darkness and air littered with age, but Regina can’t help but take it all in and wonder if this where she belongs too. They get to an enormous chamber and even through the black of it she can see all the gold harbored there. The mythical treasure of Hamunaptra, even that had turned out to be true. There are sculptures, statues, scepters, chariots, spears all made of pure gold. Regina stops to look at a lotus flower impossibly crafted into one fine piece.She feels a cold metal prod against her back and turns to see the Queen’s servant with a bad impression of menacing look on his face.

“Keep walking.” His hook pokes her again.

“You know, nasty little things such as yourself always get their comeuppance.” Regina glares at him.

“Not me, love. I am immune as long as I serve her.” He says with licking his lips.

“Can’t imagine you’ll be of use to her for much longer,” She turns her back to him as she starts walking. “You wouldn’t be to me.”

He says nothing and at least Regina gets some satisfaction out of this.

Past all the gold and treasure there is a ceremonial chamber. A large pool of black water lies at its center, a body that looks as if it’s been here for three thousand years lies next to it. It’s the body of her twin’s beloved, the one who had the night’s sky in her hair instead of sunlight. This is what all this is about, to take her heart from her so that the magic of the Mother will flow strong through the Queen’s blood. Strong enough to bring that body back to life. Regina looks away as the Queen runs her fingers down the mummy’s jaw, a gesture that looks more like an imitation of love than love itself. It cannot call itself love with a hollow chest.

 **“Do you see now?”** Her twin gestures as to mean the whole room.

 **“No.”** Regina lies wishing to be defiant if these are to be her last moments.

 **“Your pulse is too loud to not betray you,”** She walks over to Regina so that they’re face to face. **“You see all too well. If you did not you would not have known how to distract me.”** It’s repulsion that laces her words together.

 **“Then you know that my heart is unwilling to go.”** Regina dares to say. 

 **“That will change soon enough,”** Her smile is amused but devoid of anything beyond that. **“Whatever has invaded our heart can be very easily be purged.”**

**“Now I believe you are the one who is lying.”**

The Queen grabs her brusquely by the chin and then lets her go with a huff. Like she appreciates the challenge but despises the possibility of being wrong. Of course Regina understands.

There is a gunshot in the distance and even with this terrible pain Regina manages a smile just as her twin looks triumphant. She takes her by the hand, a gesture that should feel intimate but only feels cold and rough, and leads to the wall facing the pool. Regina notices rusty and heavy chains lying in the ground, and perhaps remembers the sensation of being bound to them a long time ago.

 **“I had not wished to do this but those who pests followed you here are making this bothersome. I cannot trust you to stay,”** The Queen shackles her wrists without any effort. **“And you really must stay and watch.”**

She picks up a small black jar from somewhere behind her and spills black powder unto her palm. The Queen blows it over a the carvings in the wall and looks pleased.

 **“Now I may not yet have the Mother’s magic in me but this will do for now.”** She tucks a strand of Regina’s hair behind her ear, and she can’t figure out if it’s in mockery or if it’s some kind of memory bubbling up to the surface.

Groans and moans come from inside the walls followed by powerful dead arms coming through them. Bodies badly wrapped, some mangled come and kneel before the Queen.

**“Protect your Queen. Protect her like you could not in life.”**

All Regina can do is try to keep her head up.

* * *

 

The kid hadn’t lied when he said they needed him. He’d needed to stand on the tips of his toes to read the hieroglyphs on the walls but he’d known where to go. Mostly. Henry had stayed close to her with a solemn face, pushing through whatever fear lied at the pit of his stomach. But he’d shined so bright when they’d found the statue of a falcon headed god. 

“Horus!” He’d announced excitedly as he ran to the base of the statue. “This is where the Book is!” 

She’d looked up at the statue of the god sitting proudly and stiffly on a throne, and Emma had wondered about the great black eye on her wrist. The eye that belonged to him and had been forced on her. The one that had always failed her and hadn’t been enough for anyone. Especially her. Accusations had come to mind, to ask if this is what he’d meant all along. To have her hurt like this, and to be willing to endure it. If this what to be good and strong meant. Fuck, fuck it all to hell. With one look at Zelena and Henry’s expectant gaze she’d remembered that there was not time to be having angry one-sided conversations with a god who'd never care.   

They’d chiseled away frantically, Emma had considered dynamite but deemed it too extreme, even for her. And there it’d been, a small golden chest with the Sun carved on its lid. The same star lock at its front. Emma hadn’t been able to keep from running her fingers through the smooth carvings when she’d pulled out from under the dust and collapsed stone. So many lives had been lost to find this, so small in her arms. She’d shaken her head and handed it to Henry. He’d given her an approving look and then his eyes had widened as if he couldn’t believe his luck.

“Wait until I tell mom.” Is what he’d said trying to be hopeful.

He’d tried to keep as quiet as he could trailing after her, almost squashed by Zelena behind him. It’d done something to all those empty spaces that’d been slowly been filling up inside her,like they could be drained of whatever had filled them. Emma had pushed that feeling to that back of her mind and instead concentrated on finding three sets of footprints in the sand. Maryam had pointed out that the Queen would want to take Regina deep into the heart of the city. She’d noticed how her voice had caved a little, and she’d tried to give them a reassuring look when she thought of the right words to say. To explain that the heart was everything and whatever the Queen had planned could not be done so lightly, she’d need to surround herself with whatever gifts the gods had allowed her to have three thousand years ago. They’d found a trail soon enough and Emma had needed to remind herself how to breath. She’d tried to steady her hands and idiot racing heart but it’d been of no use. Shit, nothing in life could have prepared her for this.

They’d come to a great big chamber, so big that Emma had imagined that anyone could get lost for years here among all the gold. All the fucking gold that even through the dark she’d been able to see, what her garrison had died for.

“Now this is what I’d call filthy rich.” Zelen had said sucking in a breath.

Even Maryam had looked dumbstruck at it. Her lip had parted like she’d had an idea but then decided to keep it to herself. “All this time…” Is all she’d said with a disbelieving smile.

At the very top of a large pile of mismatched pieces Emma had spotted a mirror...an ancient mirror. She’d pressed her lips together suppressing a smile as she’d removed a gun from its holster.

“Did you see something?” Maryam had asked as Zelena had looked around around and Henry hugged the chest tightly.

“We could use some light right now.” Emma had carefully aimed her gun and pulled the trigger. The bullet had sounded sharp just before the room had filled with light, the gold had reflected it into an almost blinding light.

“Woah.” Henry breathes out still amazed, still seeing the wonder in all this. Emma lets her hand find his shoulder to give it a gentle squeeze.

“Un-bloody-believable.” Zelena mutters.

They go down the steps that lead to the path between the piles of treasure, following in the Queen and Regina’s footsteps. Someone had stopped to look at something, Emma notices. Regina had, she figures it could be no one else because Henry is now doing the same. His fingers tracing the edges of one single flower that doesn’t seem to be real at all. Zelena gives him a gentle tap on his shoulder to get him to move along. And it’s almost a quiet and great moment, another one of those that feels big and important but is contained in one short second.

Almost because strange moans start coming from the ground. They begin sounding like wild animals that had been caged and are now loose. Hands pop from the ground and grab Henry by the ankle and Emma doesn’t think twice before squashes them with her boot. The kid’s petrified, eyes blank and pale faced. She tightens her grip on her gun and takes the chest from him and hands it over to Zelena. He doesn’t even register it when she lowers her body to his level and he instinctively climbs on her back. Mummies, weaker and less menacing the Queen, are chasing after them. Henry’s breath against her neck is short and his arms are little too tight but she still manages to shoot two mummies that get in her way. Maryam and Zelena fire more rounds and she can only think of keeping her feet moving.

“Go, go!” Maryam shouts somewhere behind her and opens heavy fire.

Emma wants to go back for her, drag her away to safety but she knows it can’t happen. Not if they want a good chance of beating the Queen. With gunfire and muffled moans still piercing her eardrums she picks up the pace and arrives at another chamber. Black stone and suffocating, like it tomb in itself.  Zelena is catching her breath beside her when Emma feels Henry gasp against her neck and her pulse drumming away when she sees Regina bound in chains and trying to keep her head held high.

* * *

 Their eyes meet across the room, her own dark ones and Emma’s green. She is standing at the top of the staircase with her son on her back and Zelena at her side, out of breath and red with exertion. She’s close enough that she can hear that heart of hers, beating against her chest. Beating with so many wonderful and dangerous things, and Regina thinks that maybe if she could just anchor herself to it she might withstand the pain she feels. She watches her put Henry down, half mumble an instruction to Zelena who carries a golden chest. Her smart, brave boy had done it, her son plucked from the waters and wrapped in cotton.They both argue with Emma, she can hear Henry’s voice rising and Zelena blowing air through her mouth. Emma nods in her general direction and that is enough to get them to give in. They’ve gone off to hide, to keep each other safe.

“Emma…” She manages through the pain. Regina means it as a warning because the Queen must be watching, with her claws out.

She rushes down the steps, gun in hand and bullets strung across her chest, idiot she wants to say but Regina doesn’t have the strength. Her steps are sure and quick on the stone echoing across the chamber. Regina’s chest rises with too many things at once when Emma reaches her side with her heart so loud and kind.

“Hi.” Emma says her eyes lined with salt as she looks at her.

Regina lets out a tired laugh as she gazes at her.

“Guess you won’t be coming after me,huh?” It’s the single dumbest thing Regina’s ever heard and yet it’s just what she needs. “I’ll just get you out of these and…”

Emma struggles with the shackles, desperate to free her. She resorts to firing a bullet at one the chains that keep her bound to the wall. Her hand drops without the weight of metal. Regina about to speak, not sure of what she would say, when a body tackles Emma to the ground. It’s one of the Queen’s servants, and it’s a hideous thing with no purpose or mind of its own. She watches her wrestle it and finally shoot four bullets into it. Before she can compose herself another appears, more vicious than the last and Regina understands that she’s acting as both the Queen’s prize and bait. 

“Get away!” It costs her a great deal of strength to shout this at Emma, who spares her a look of hurt and confusion.

“Would you quit it with that crap?!” She asks after firing another round. “I’m not leaving you!”

“Just listen to me!” Regina might faint from the pain but she has to make her understand. “This isn’t the way to..”Her heart renders her mute.

Sand envelops Emma and tosses her to the other side of the chamber, her weapons taken away from her. The Queen takes shape at Regina’s side and grabs the hand that is still chained in place.

 **“Quite the spectacle, isn’t it?”** She squeezes her hand and the pain only worsens.

 **“Please…”** Regina tries to plead with her twin, even if she is still the one in possession of her heart.

 **“Watch and our heart will be cleansed.”** The Queen says lowly, almost gentle.

Against her will she raises her eyes and sees Emma stand and steal a sword from a nearby statue. Her stance inviting the mindless bodies to come attack her because the fight in her hasn’t died. More and more pop up from the walls and stone floor, some she guesses where her old guards not simple slaves. Because they too carry weapons, they move swiftly and only come close to killing Emma. But still, her heart will not answer her twin’s call because she is too taken with the way she isn’t giving up. This is the very essence of Emma, she thinks each with beat excruciating against her chest. This stupid unwillingness to surrender when faced with impossible odds, she’s a sword in her hand and ungraceful movements. She’s that quick smile she manages to throw her way to reassure her. Emma is that moment when her lungs tell her not give anymore, when her knees want to buckle but never do.  Regina realizes, that she’s sunlight, the kind that comes from and through darkness. The kind that pierces through curtains on a dark morning with promises of a warm day. There is some strength left in her, Regina feels an inkling of fire in her veins. Perhaps not strong enough for a flame but good enough for spark.The Queen senses this, this reluctance and stubbornness because she laces their fingers together. 

 **“It is not working, is it?”** Regina taunts her.   

 **“Give it time, my Queen,”** It’s her serenity that strikes Regina. **“Besides, it’s not the only way to get you to break.”**

 She keeps her eyes on Emma, ears trained on the clash of metal and a strong pulse still not understanding what the Queen means. Something terrible and cold grows at the pit of her stomach, because there must be a purpose to treat Emma like a piece in a game. To have literally tossed her like a doll and asked others to make use of her, to put on a performance. It’s when a mummy grabs Emma by throat and lifts her up into the air that she understands.

“NO!”She shouts for her life, in all the languages that course through her.

There’s gunshots being fired in some corner of the chamber followed by rushed footsteps that don’t quite echo. It’s Zelena and Henry, running and fighting for their lives. The sister she had never expected to love and the son she never thought she’d have. It’s a macabre show, she sees it now, the image of Emma’s kicking feet up in the air and the sound of Zelena and Henry being hunted down.

Her twin laughs and tosses her head back. 

 **“You cannot...”** Regina struggles with her words and breathing.She thinks she is truly breaking.

 **“Am I correct in assuming that you would give anything, do anything?”** The Queen scoffs. **“I am afraid it does not quite work like that.”** There’s a strong bitterness to her voice.

Regina closes her eyes, feeling as if her heart truly will explode and its shards will embed themselves in these walls for another three thousand years. 

The black-stoned chamber is gone and the air fresh with the water. It’s a good day to be on the river, one cloud covers the Sun as if the gods had ensured that its light would not be too harsh on their skins. The boat sways gentle with the Nile’s current, and Regina sees her beloved coming to meet her with their son on their back. They both smile as they look at her, the fabric hanging loose on their bodies. Regina kisses her love on the lips and her son on the forehead before she lets them continue with whatever silly game they seem to be playing. The color of her beloved’s hair changes from sunshine to night’s sky under the light and shadow. Regina could watch all day. 

Her sister comes to rest a hand on her shoulder.

“Look at how blessed we are,” She says words heavy with laughter. “We have yet to tip over because of their antics.”

“Let them have their fun.” Regina replies through her grin.

“Of course, of course. Who would I be if I ever denied anyone a bit of fun?”

“Not my sister, surely.”

“And how lucky you are that I am.”

She is sitting upon her throne, golden scepter in hand. The crown of Upper and Lower Egypt rests on her shoulders and she is overlooking the room. There has been no Queen, no King like herself. One that has managed to do so much for Egypt and here is the proof, in the emissaries from Nubia and beyond are here, be it peace through trade, fear, or whatever else. She is the Queen, a god walking this Earth, and she allows herself wide and proud smile. Truly, it is her hand that rises from the waters and creates all, she is the morning light that also rises. Mistress of all that she sees.

The stone is cool under her hand and the balcony overlooks the city that has been reshaped to her image. Her shoulders are bare and the night breeze is cool and gentle. Regina’s breathing is soft and her chest light as feather. She puts a hand over her heart and feels it beat contently. Cool lips land on the skin of her shoulders and strong arms wrap themselves around her waist. Their touch is ever soft and protective, and this embrace feels like nothing new but always wanted and always needed.

“Nice view.” They say with their face buried in her neck.

“You’re not even looking at it.” Regina rolls her eyes her hands finding theirs.

“I’m not talking about the city.” They laugh against her skin and then graze it with their teeth. “Come back to bed?” They ask with a voice so sweet that she has to wonder how they managed to learn it from life. 

“Take me.” Regina lets them lead her into the bedroom.

The moonlight makes their eyes change from green to almost coal as they look down at her. There is a kind of purity in all their gestures, the way their nose nuzzles Regina and how their fingers are so careful when they run down her body. It feels like a gift, like a divine gift. Her gaze never drifts away from them and she is reminded time and time again that this where they are meant to be, safe with heat coursing through their bodies. Their son sleeping in his bed down a long hallway away from this bedroom, and the city quiet and tranquil beneath them. Owners and rulers of their lives, with nothing left wanting in them.

A voice runs through her mind as she lies in bed feeling their chest rise and fall against her back. **“Does this not feel good? This freedom, this power, this adoration?”**

 **“Yes.”** Regina replies to it silently.

 **“Do you want it?”**  

 **“Yes.”**  

Regina opens her eyes to find the Queen’s hand deep within her chest. Her heart in her grip, she still feels it beating wildly and now she knows that it has chosen to go. That it had no longer been unwilling, being too overcome with love to resist. 

 **“Our heart shall not be wasted this time.”** And she almost sounds sincere. 

Regina only wishes she could have been stronger, able to recognize the temptation in the desert. Her twin yanks her hand away and Regina feels her body slump against the wall as the room gets colder and darker. 

In darkness she stays, floating on dark waters. She knows that no god will answer her, it’s just her and the emptiness inside her. These are the waters of creation, where time stretches forward and backward or perhaps does not exist at all. There is no great cosmic journey to embark on, no animal headed gods to weigh the contents of her heart. For she has none, she is cursed to lie here for all time. Being caught in this eternal tide Regina can easily see anger becoming the one emotion that might fill her, how it might become the one thing that would be able to sustain her. No great Mother, no all-seeing and all-capable Father to whisper judgments into her ear. If she could laugh at herself, at her situation, she would. But that had been stolen from her when her heart had parted from her, taken when one warm hand tightening itself around it had murdered her. This endless ocean will never let her reach shore.

* * *

 

Her heart beats frantically in her palm, crimson and so strong. Freely given in a perfect world. The Queen grins because this is raw power contained in here and it is so alive. She looks at her twin lying limp and lifeless against the wall no doubt now floating through the same waters that held her prisoner. She had told her that there was no death where she would be, indeed but no life exists there either. It will just be her ignored by the gods and their mercy for centuries to come. The memory of the curse is much too fresh to allow the Queen hesitation. Too long has it been since she was last complete. Too much time with nothing but an empty anger in her spirit. Neglected for millennia by the Mother. With her fingers firmly wrapped around the delicate tissue of her heart she sinks her hand into her chest. They move carefully until the right place is found under the bone until she feels the heart lock itself into position. 

The Queen’s chest swells and she feels fire, violet and red, running through her veins. Her blood feels hot under her skin and the smile that curls on her lips feels true. Was this what the gods felt? Was this what Sekhmet had in her veins when she was sent down to exact vengeance in the name of the Ra? Is this what filled Mother Isis when Ra had conceded his crown to her? It must be, it must be she repeats to herself. This is to be all powerful, to have risen with the wrath of Egypt and the magic of the Mother. To be not alive but to never die, this is to be divine. Absolute and true ruler of all that she sees. Her whole body shivers as if adjusting to their reclaimed heart, happy to have its mistress back. Ecstatic to be whole again.

So strong her emotions and rediscovered sensations are that the Queen had been unaware of the noise behind her, sounds loud as thunder, feet on stone and the struggle for life. The heartbeat of one who has just been broken but is not yet ready to collapse into itself. She turns to look at her servants holding up the woman with sunlight in her hair, and more of them surrounding a boy and a woman with fire crowning her head. The Queen decides that her magic could use a test and with a flick of her hand she sets her servants aflame, turning them into ash. The Queen is convinced that the sentiment behind her action had been nothing more than curiosity, the need and want to see the Mother working through her. It could not have been anything else. She encases the boy and the woman holding him in a cloud of sand and thinks is delighted at the sight of it. But the woman with the sword in her hand she traps behind a revolving curtain of fire, one that is as scalding as the rage she feels radiating from her.

Even through the fire she can hear her shouts, threats and promises the Queen cannot understand. She believes it is a trick of her body when there a pricks of pain in her chest. They feel like a small but sharp needle when they correspond to the boy’s cries and the woman’s shouts. It matters very little, the Queen decides as her gaze drops to the body of her love, wrapped and perfumed.They had endured as much in death as they did in life. When her fingers run down the outline of their face this time she feels warmth deep inside her. She wills herself to ignore that other feeling that fights this one, the one that feels cold and gray. The Queen is gentle as she can be when with two slow motions of her hands lift their body and then lower it into the black waters. There they shall be recomposed, the water will flood their lungs and magic their blood and they will emerge as she is. Their skin the color of bronze and their hair slick on their shoulders. Their voice will be all mirth, eyes dark as coal but bright as the stars. Light that pierces through darkness. As they had always had been.

“REGINA!” Comes a desperate call from within the flames. The Queen is thrown when it’s a word her heart recognizes.

Her eyes turn to the woman and she looks like cobra that has been cornered and is blindly striking the enemy. Her feet seem to be engaged in kind of frantic dance and the sword keeps getting turned in her hand. It’s as if she is readying herself for something incredibly stupid. She crosses her arms and lifts them up to her face. Even at this distance the Queen see the great Eye of Horus that had repelled less than a day ago, when she had been less than she is now. There is still an odd sensation akin to fear in her core mixing with something that cannot be described as anything else but elation. The Queen keeps her eyes fixed on the woman, dares not to tear her sight away from her. With a shake to her head the woman seems to have made up her mind and runs through the flames. Her heart, this seemingly unruly heart, jumps at the sight of her unharmed. The gods should not play favorites and yet here is proof that perhaps they do, evident in her unscathed light skin.

The woman seems ready to attack with whatever strength she has left but then her one handed servant appears behind her. There is a sneer upon his face and dark sort of pride in his heart. He points a weapon against the back of her skull. The Queen is unable to comprehend what overcomes her, if it’s rage or something far more perilous. Something she knows had invaded this heart before it became solely hers. All she knows is that is an offense she cannot possibly tolerate. Her hand rises before a second thought sprouts into her mind and violently twists itself in the air, the motion is repeated in her servant’s neck. The bone cracks loudly just as his eyes turn white. Even when his body hits the ground she is still unable to understand her actions. The woman looks as stunned as The Queen feels. It is not long before she remembers her purpose and runs at her with the sword in hand.

It is not a fight she is capable of winning, the woman’s heart knows as it beats furiously. It’s mad with grief and rage. Her attacks are swift and sure but easily dodged. The Queen refuses to acknowledge why her magic seems to be bound to her insides unable to harm the woman. Why each step backwards or sideways makes her whole world spin, as if she is being caught in a flood of emotions. She had known, of course, that hearts are volatile things. The very essence of life is what they contain, she had felt her own leave three thousand years ago when the embalmer cut it out of her. But this heart, _her_ heart she has to remind herself, is bringing too much with it. So much that the Queen is certain that the cloud of sand enveloping the boy and woman has dissipated because she hears distant sobs and calls to life. Her resolve would be tested, the Queen had been aware, the gods had never granted gifts easily to her. She has to prove ownership of this heart, to subdue it and control it. 

And so this dance between the Queen and this Wedjat of a woman continues, the sword always coming inches away from cutting her skin. She indulges her, the Queen supposes, as she knows that no man forged metal can rob her of her life. Every time the sharp edge of the sword misses her the woman’s heart grows more restless and she recognizes the feeling well. Impotent anger. It is rooted deep within this heart and as she moves the room changes. It is a sun-filled room now crammed with possessions, things others would consider treasures but she’d known them only her cell mates. She is a child trying to stand in the face of her mother’s cruelty, nearly about to wet herself in fear. 

The Queen steadies herself, it is not a vision she wants. Not a memory that needs to be kept, but then she is in a lush green place. A top a horse riding on bare back and her feet naked, her father watches from a distance beaming at her. This is a chance to breath, to let her tongue loose and her stomach filled with plantain and fish and have a grandmother press kisses to her forehead and whisper words of her people to her. Tell her how happy she is that she has her dark eyes. She is thinking about all this happiness when her horse becomes spooked by a snake on the ground and she falls. Her elbows shatters but she doesn’t cry, not even for help. Mother had made sure that all her pain was to be borne quietly. Her father rushes over in a panic more afraid of what is to come, of mother’s reaction than of her injury. 

The visions wash over her, all in some way bright and dark. She sees a son’s first steps taken on a wooden floor, a sister pressing a kiss to her temple, a great ship that would take her across an ocean, cold nights and warm days on the green grass. Finely sliced strawberries and spring flowers, storms and dead leaves on the ground. The city sounds, strong coffee and perfumed oils. The voices of merchants, the moon on the Nile, an apple tree in a courtyard. These do not belong to her, the Queen accepts it with a fury. It cannot be, after so long, that this heart should not be hers alone. She does the only thing she can do to trample on it, to claim it as hers; with a dismissive motion she throws the woman against the wall. As far away from her as possible. The Queen will have to take her life, it is the only that she will be whole again and not this disjointed composition of her twin’s memories and her own. She will have to kill everyone in this room, even the young boy curled around the body of his mother. The Queen will force the magic to work for her.  

The woman is only on her knees and looks up at her and her green eyes practically burning her own. She coughs but her pulse will not resign itself to defeat, she runs toward her lifting the sword high in the air. The Queen stops her mid-charge and lifts her up in the air, fire once again surrounding her. Those eyes again lock with her own, and they narrow with rage and pure hatred. The Queen sees them change from green to black, she staggers backwards. The woman’s skin becomes bronze and then milk, the mess of golden curls becomes a curtain of night colored hair. She recognizes that look, that expression that tells her they’ll kill and die for whom they love. The Queen spares a glance at the body of her beloved floating in the black waters of death and life and remembers that it had been this same look upon their face that had set everything in motion. Her chest contracts when she sees she stands very much in the same way her brother had stood, that false god, barely a man.Treacherous and cruel, this is what she would become if this heart were to be brutalized. Her gaze wanders to the beautiful,noble, broken boy and then returns to the woman with angry tears flooding her face.

“Emma.” The Queen whispers, or rather the heart of her twin does.

There it is, that dangerous thing written all over her face. Hope. Of course the Queen is aware of what will have to follow, because this heart was never hers for the taking. This abomination that is her life cannot be, never meant to be. Curses were broken but some, some were meant to be endured. They could not come at the cost of another. A resigned smile escapes her because she had not counted on being made human instead of divine. The Queen leaves the woman...Emma surrounded by flames as she makes her way towards her twin. The boy, Henry, only holds on tighter to his mother and her sister rises up to meet her, attempting to at least protect the body. Still, she moves to free her limp hands from their shackles and delicately takes her body with her magic. It hovers gently in a cloud of violet until it settles on the table that had held her beloved.

The Queen looks down at her, sun-blessed face that has not yet begun to lose its color. It is not too late. She readies her hand and lets it dive deep into her own chest. Her grip on the heart is tight and sure. It wants to go,she feels its longing. It is painful to rip it out of herself, perhaps worse than when her own heart had been butchered out of her. The Mother has covered it in a mist of violet. It becomes obvious when looking at it alive in her hand. This heart has been blessed in this moment, taking the best pieces from herself to give back to her twin. She tries to be as gentle as she can pushing the heart back into her chest, careful so that her fingers do not do more damage than they have already done. It lies where it is meant to, where it never should have left. The Queen allows herself a weak laugh.

 **“Live life, I shall not die.”** She says softly against her ear. 

The Queen stands back and lets Mother Isis and Osiris take over, bring her back from the cursed waters to where she had sent her. Her twin’s body shakes violently, violet and flame wrap themselves around her until they consume each other and retreat into her heart. She sits up clutching her chest, her breathing hard and labored. Their eyes meet, and she still feels move within her. The Queen closes her first as to free Emma from her prison and she struggles to get her legs to run as fast as she wills. Her heart is in pure ecstasy, it booms across her body. In a blink she is at her twin’s side taking her hand, openly crying. This is not hers to feel, to understand, yet she knows what her twin’s nods mean because Emma kisses her on the lips, on her tear stricken cheeks, on the forehead dirty with sand. Henry and her sister run up to her, hammering hearts and quivering lips that suggest they cannot contain themselves. He jumps on the table prepared to never let go. No, no this was never the Queen’s to have.

The golden chest containing the Book of Amun-Ra lies on the floor where the boy had curled up against his mother. The Queen walks to retrieve it; it is smaller than the black chest that contains her Book of the Dead but it is protected by the same shape of a star. It is heavier than she thought it would be, made of solid gold. Ra lies carved on its lid, fitting that it would be the giver of life that would take hers away. She indulges in admiring its fine details and the latent magic in it before she produces the key from her robes. It only takes one simple turn to open the chest and reveal the scrolls. The spells all written in black and gold trimming the tips of the papyrus, all asking Ra and his sons and daughters to rid Egypt of what does not belong in it. She would feel wounded if she still possessed a heart, she wonders if her reflection feels it instead. A glance in her direction tells her it is so and the Queen truly sees that only one is entitled to life. All but her...Regina look at the Queen in apprehension as she returns to the table. Regina extends her hands to meet the scrolls, their fingertips meet one last time making her twin gasp.

 **“Are you certain?”** She asks as if she the Lord of the Dead and the Mother had not just rescued her from a curse she had inflicted upon her.

 **“Yes. Do it quickly, my Queen. Before whatever is left of you is swept away from me.”** The Queen makes sure to look into her eyes, to face her true reflection.

 She walks over to the black waters of the pool, their coolness hitting her skin that is slowly losing its warmth. The Queen stops once its waters have reached her neck and she has found the body of her love. They float side by side now, her arm under their body that will never rise, that should never rise. She awaits for the incantations that will bring an end to this. Perhaps set her free, she does not know. They come but she does not hear the words, instead she feels her spirit leaving her body and only she can see it flying away from her, a falcon with very human eyes sparing her one last glance before it is gone. The Queen closes her eyes for the last time and sinks with her beloved into darkness.

* * *

 

He still can’t believe his eyes. Mom, _mom,_ had been dead. Henry had seen it. His eyes still sting and his throat is hoarse from how much he’d cried. But there she is, her feet are dangling over the stone table with a scroll on her lap. He doesn’t understand a whole lot, he thinks, while looking at the pool where the Queen had sunk. So much had happened, clouds of sand, walls of fire and purple smoke. The Queen looking back at him like, well, like mom would have. Henry thinks it was mom’s heart that did it. It had to be. But those are questions for later because now they’re still in this very creepy room and he’d like nothing better than to go. Now. 

“Mom?” Henry asks tentatively. His mind is still replaying the moment when she came back to life and can’t quite get over it. 

Her eyes are definitely mom’s and she is actually grinning, like it’s the best thing she’s ever heard. 

“Si. mi vida?”  She asks cupping his cheek and he leans into it. 

She’s so warm and alive that he can’t help but throw all his strength into another hug that almost pins her to the table. Mom holds him tighter. 

“Can we..uh...leave?” 

Auntie Zelena barks out a laugh and he can hear air being blown out of Emma’s nose like she does when she’s trying not to laugh. 

“Yes, we can go.” Mom sits up and he jumps off the table. He’s ready to run if he needed to. 

“What should we do about this?” Emma asks running her finger across the Book of Amun-Ra. Her voice is careful, Henry notices, like she’s afraid of saying the wrong thing.

Mom looks thoughtful y no es para menos. She’s holding the thing she had been obsessed about. This had been her dream, he knows that. He’d been so excited when Emma had given it to him. They’d found something and not just any something. He’d thought it was the greatest thing ever but now he’s not so sure. He saw what it could do and it scares him. Henry knows his eyebrows are meeting because mom turns to him with that expression that tells him she’s about to ask him something important. Like when she asked him about moving to Cairo.

“What do you think we should with it, Henry?” And it’s serious because she isn’t calling him sweetheart or anything else she uses when her voice gets like that.

“I think,” He pauses to consider it for a while. He definitely doesn’t like how could it take someone’s life away, especially how mom only just re-opened her eyes. How his hands are still shaking from losing her.  “She should have it.” Henry points towards the pool. It shouldn’t be near mom. Ever again.

“OK,” She says folding the scroll and getting to her feet. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

“Really?” Auntie Zelena asks like she can’t believe what she’s hearing.

Her face softens and she gives Emma a look. A lot like the ones she’s been giving her all this time but more...like they both know something new now. He has to stop himself from gasping when he remembers Emma kissing mom all over her face.

“Yes, really.” Mom collects the chest and locks the scroll inside. “Help me with the black chest, would you sweetheart?”

 He grabs the chest from the far side of the table and walks over to the pool. He waits for mom and together they throw them in and watch until they sink.

“And you don’t think she’ll umm..?” Emma says rubbing her neck, red from where that mummy had grabbed her.

“No,” Mom says quietly. “I don’t think she’ll come back. Or that she wants to.”

Emma grabs mom’s hand, and it’s gentle and strong. Henry sees mom squeezing her hand back and not dropping it. It’s the first time he’s ever seen mom do that. Well, it’s the first time he’s seen mom do a lot of things.

“I’m almost expecting this place to come crashing down on us, to be honest.” Auntie Zelena says looking all around them.

“Don’t be dramatic, Zelena.” Mom says rolling her eyes.

 Henry laughs and so does his aunt. It’s good, everything is good.

As they leave they all shield him from the body that used to be Hook’s and he really doesn’t mind that one bit when they get to the treasure room. He notices Auntie Zelena sighing, mom’s glare and Emma’s shake of the head. They’ll be going back to Cairo and have nothing to show for it. And somehow that’s just fine with him. He doesn’t even think to take golden lotus flower he’d liked so much.

The Sun is hot and bright, almost white, when they reach the surface. He hadn’t noticed how the air in the city had been so heavy before because the breeze blowing over the sand and stone is so light. It feels like it’s dancing, and he understands why it would. A smile grows on his face when he notices how Emma’s fingers are still holding on to mom’s, by the very tips. Auntie Zelena sees him looking and pulls a face. 

“Is that plane still working or…?”

“I think it’s safe to say that it is in fact dead in the sand,” Auntie Zelena squints as she looks to where the plane should be. “Damn thing...AH AH!” She jumps away.

It’s Maryam who had walked up behind them and placed a hand on her shoulder. It’s the first time he’s seen her smile like that. She has some cuts on her hands and face, and some of her black clothes have been ripped. But she looks...happy.

“Don’t DO THAT!” Auntie Zelena says walking backwards towards them.

“I’m sorry if I frightened you.” She’s still smiling when she turns to look at mom. “The creature is dead, yes?”

Maryam doesn’t know about mom so she can’t understand the expression on Emma’s face or on mom’s.

“You don’t have to worry about her anymore.” Emma answers so mom doesn’t have to and Henry wonders just what is this new thing they both know about the other. What is it that they share that they can do just do this so easily.

“Great. This is...all” Yeah, she looks like a weight has been lifted off her shoulders. “My people and I are very grateful. _May God protect you all the days of your life._ ”

“Grateful enough to give us a couple of horses?” Auntie Zelena asks

“Zelena!” Mom reprimands her.

“Well it’s only fair…ow!” Mom smacks her straight in the arm.

“Something can be arranged, I believe,” Maryam replies a little too amused. “Just come with me.”

“What will you do now? Now that you don’t have to..uh..you know guard this place?” Emma asks her as they move towards the cliffs.

“I do not know,” Maryam sighs. “Perhaps give back after we’ve taken so much because of it.”

“Makes sense.” Mom says and Henry thinks she gets it more than she lets on.

“What about you, _sister_? What will you do?”

Mom stops to gaze at him and then at Emma. Emma who looks at mom like she is all the things she thought impossible and more and gives her a shy smile. Like she still can’t wrap it around her mind that mom is here, smiling back at her and looking at her like she just learned how to breathe. He makes a note to bug them both about that when they’re home.

 

“I see.” Maryam laughs, the first laugh he’s heard from her, as she turns their back away from them.

Mom seizes the opportunity to kiss Emma on the lips, one hand tangled in Emma’s very messy blonde hair. She’s grinning when they break apart and Emma’s ears are a bright red. Maybe he’s seeing things because all the magic he’d witnessed today but he swears he sees sparks flying from the hand that still holds Emma’s. 

“You two are going to be absolutely unbearable on the way back. Come on Henry, let’s leave them to it.” Auntie Zelena grabs his hand and walks ahead to catch up with Maryam.

Henry looks back at them and maybe Auntie Zelena has a point because Emma has her arm around mom’s waist and mom is whispering things to her. But then they catch him looking back, mom is just beaming and Emma winks at him. They really did find something out here in the desert, Henry thinks as he turns to look ahead of him. And not just any something. Something they get to keep.

 

**THE END**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Ancients believed in different aspects to the soul, one was called the ba which is sort of like the soul and spirit but not quite. I can't really explain what exactly it is and the old white dude who translated the Book of the Dead wasn't either. However it did take shape in a human-headed hawk, which is what the Queen saw. 
> 
> And this is the end. Thanks so much for reading, this has been my favorite thing to write ever! And I'm super emotional about it ending but here it is! You guys are truly the BEST.


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